


The Born King comes

by Rakshasha



Series: Of friendship and love [4]
Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, F/M, Feels, Final Battle, Fluff, Follows the movie from Readers pov, Reader & the gang friendship, everything the movie was and more, no beta we die like men, they love and support each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-01-24 06:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21333673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rakshasha/pseuds/Rakshasha
Summary: It wasn’t a rare occurrence that some shady people would visit the brothel – after all, weren’t they a bunch of misfits themselves? – but it wasn’t usual that the person hiding was so high up on Blacklegs’ list that Jack’s Eye himself  was searching for them. It meant trouble, that much she knew, but how big of a trouble?Messing with the Vikings wasn’t the brightest of Art’s ideas, too, but for it to start off the series of events that followed?It truly was a material for a Legend.
Relationships: Arthur (King Arthur: Legend of the Sword)/Reader, Arthur/reader, King Arthur/Reader
Series: Of friendship and love [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/767034
Comments: 22
Kudos: 79





	1. Of swords and legends

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, I've been able to come back to this series. A lot happened, but I'm determined to finish this now.  
For now plan is for four chapters, three I've already written, but I'll post the next when I'm finished with the fourth one. There may be a fifth part - or an epilogue sort of one-shot to end the series. Any preferences how'd you like it? It'd be set mostly after the movie or rather after the coronation, just to close it off.  
Hope you'll enjoy this one!

Jack’s Eye’s visits always made her mood go sour.

He wouldn’t ever talk about anything of importance in front of her, even though she was a part of the gang since before Arthur and the sergeant got an agreement – he just plainly didn’t care. So she removed herself out of his way, silencing Art’s protests and attempts to change her mind, staying as far from the man as possible. She’d get the news anyway when he was out, so at least she was spared his condescending presence.

But that day, as she watched her friends and Art disappear in the back room, she dreaded it like never before. Couldn’t help but think it wasn’t anything good – an uneasy feeling settling itself in her chest, heavy and seemingly weighting her down. More so because tension in the country was steadily raising with seemingly every day, the king was pushing his people to the brink, cruel and demanding, everyone was either aggravated or resigned, and it became harder and harder to thread the grey line of right and wrong as they did here, operating on the outskirts of law. They all didn’t pay the so called Resistance much mind aside from being wary and not getting in too much trouble, but now... It could all go to shit all too fast.

With a sigh (y/n) turned around, letting her steps guide her – not surprisingly – to Lucy’s room.

After hearing an answer to her light knock, she slipped inside, teeth already worrying her bottom lip.

„How are you feeling?” she asked softly, letting a smile on her face – because as turbulent as her thoughts were, it was good to see Lucy’s injuries almost all gone by now, only light shadows of bruises still visible in some places.

„Quite good, actually,” was her light replay, her mouth curling up. Only when she looked at (y/n) more closely, her face fell into a frown. „What is it?”

(Y/n) sighed, coming closer to perch herself at the small table next to the bed, her hip resting against the edge and arms crossed over the chest.

„Jack’s Eye is here.” A slight grimace crossed her features, a clear giveaway to how she felt.

Lucy’s brow furrowed.

„Alright, but that’s not so uncommon, so,” Lucy paused, giving her friend a careful look, „there’s something more, is it?”

Their eyes met and (y/n) knew she wouldn’t get away with it, but – after all – she did came here for a reason.

„Someone from Resistance was hiding here.”

Lucy’s brow lifted, surprise settling on her face.

„I have a bad feeling about it, Lu.” There was an urgency in her voice she wasn’t sure she wanted to let on, but couldn’t help hiding either.

Warm, worried eyes regarded her, not wholly understanding, but supportive nonetheless.

„I’m sure Arthur will tell you all about it when they’re done,” she said, clearly trying to reassure her.

She nodded, feeling something closing in on her chest, a familiar kind of tension.

„Yeah, I know...”

Breathing out a long sigh, (y/n) steeled herself for whatever would come and swiftly changed the topic, letting Lucy’s warm chatter fill the void. It was nice and familiar, the woman’s voice settling her nerves, calming. At least until the door creaked open, Art’s head popping in.

„I thought I’d find you here, love,” he said with a smile, his voice warm and pleasant – but there was something in his eyes, something not quite fitting the rest. „Sorry, Lu.” He shifted his attention, sending Lucy an apologetic look, but she only waved her hand and shooed them out.

Closing the door behind them, Art’s arm found itself a way over and around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his side and keeping there. His smile was all but gone, the tiniest of frowns upon his brows, and (y/n)’s heart stuttered, the tension in her chest snapping in a tight knot.

Jack’s Eye was gone, Wet Stick and Back Lack were sitting a bit in the back, faces impassive, but eyes holding a very similar to Art’s expression, and she needed a second before she realized Arthur steered them to the stairs and up to their room. Something was horribly wrong.

„What happened?”

He winced, seemingly ripped out of his thoughts, before a sigh left his lips. Looking down to met her eyes, he send her a small, reassuring smile – but it wasn’t convincing.

„Jack tried to scare us off, had a blast doing it, I tell you.”

The amused tone of his voice did nothing to ease her worry, eyes steadily set on his face, one brow rising.

Art relented with a quiet breath and as he closed the door to their bedroom, he turned to her, his arms crossing over toned chest.

„Apparently the man that was hiding here is quite famous among Blacklegs. Goosefat Bill they call him, never heard of him if you ask me. For a man as high on their list as him you’d think he’d find a better place to hide.”

Her brows furrowed, the name not really ringing any bells – there was a blurry memory of Wet Stick mentioning someone of this name, but it was old and she didn’t pay it any mind.

„But you gave him away, so what more Jack wanted?”

Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his thighs. His long fingers brushed through the blond strands, shoulders raising and falling with a quiet exhale.

„Apparently those Vikings we paid a visit are king’s guests or something. Under his protection, Jack said.” He shrugged. „Not sure why he gloated so much about it, it’s not like the king’s gonna concern himself with us.”

(Y/n) shuddered, hearing the tiniest smudge of uncertainty in his voice. And as the horrible realization settled itself in her mind, her breath went uneven, body tensing. Without even realizing it, she hugged her arms around herself, teeth already sinking in the bottom lip.

„Yeah, but he may be concerned for his guests,” her voice wavered and before she knew it, Art was on his feet, two strides all that it took for him to reach her.

„Hey, don’t worry,” his hand came up to cup her face, lightly lifting it so their eyes would meet, „they’re not gonna bother about us, love.” His voice was soothing, calm and only slightly raspy, but she couldn’t help but bite her lip harder. A sigh left his mouth as his thumb brushed down to her chin and tugged slightly to relieve it. „It’s not the first for us. Nothing’s gonna happen, love. Trust me.”

Her heart soared, hearing the pleading in his voice, seeing it in the clear blue of his eyes.

„I do,” she said in all honesty, there wasn’t any person she trusted more, „but what if something does happen?”

The line of his mouth lowered just slightly, and his thumbs smoothed out the skin on her cheekbones, her jaw, his palms warm and reassuring.

„Then we’re gonna deal with it. Like always.”

It didn’t ease the tension in her chest or slow down her frantically beating heart, but it was the truth – they would deal with whatever anyone threw at them, they were good at it. She trusted Arthur with her life, as he trusted her with his. And they had Wet Stick and Back Lack, and George, and all the others. They would find a way, somehow.

„Alright,” she said, at last, strangely deflating, an unexpected but not unwelcome calmness slowly flooding her veins. „We deal with it together.”

Smile curled Art’s mouth up, a familiar spark igniting in his eyes, and she felt a pleasant warmth spreading through her body, tingling on the edges of her nerves.

„Of course, love,” his murmurs travelled down her spine in a delightful shiver.

„Good.”

And she smiled, reaching up to capture his lips.

***

She really should’ve expected it. All in all, the king wasn’t a merciful ruler and if someone interfered with his plans, it rarely ended well – so why did they get so surprised? Frankly, there wasn’t any way they’d be able to know about this – as she found out later – yet, still, she felt they should have.

And then Back Lack was busting inside Art’s room, waking them up and frantically explaining what was going on. Before she got her head around half of it, Art was already mostly dressed with a bag in his hand and looking at her like something was tearing him apart inside.

„Go,” she said without any thought, hastily raising from her spot.

„But–”

„We’ll meet later.”

She snatched his white jacket from beside the bed and pressed it into his hands, urging him to go. There wasn’t any more time, the sound of Blacklegs barging inside clear from the opened windows, where frigid Back Lack stood with an impatient and worried expression.

„Same as always?” he asked, already moving, (y/n) following.

„Of course.”

He was almost through the ledge, when he turned around and almost smashed his lips onto hers, something almost desperate bleeding through the searing kiss, burning her mouth and sending a sharp shiver down her spine. And as quick as the kiss started, it ended, Art already half out the window when she opened her eyes.

„See you later, love.”

And he was gone, slipping away into the shadows of early morning.

Back Lack looked out the window then, cursing under his breath as the sound of door crashing open cut through the air.

„Dress up, they’ll be all over the place in minutes,” he threw her way, already walking to the door.

„Jack’s with them?”

She get to dressing in a haste she hadn’t experienced since running away to Londinium, choosing the most comfortable clothes for a possible escape without even thinking of it.

„I don’t know,” Lack said, stopping by the door. „Better it be him,” the grimness of his voice told her everything she needed. If it was anyone other than Jack’s Eye, they may not get away tonight. And as much as she despised him and the danger of Art’s deal with the sergeant, it might give them the tiniest of advantages.

When Back Lack stepped out of the room, she was already at his heel, a small dagger hid in her right boot, feeling entirely too exposed and vulnerable without the blades at her back. Already there were shocked gasp and stifled screams coming from downstairs, mixed with Blackleg’s shouting and Wet Stick’s smooth, calm voice trying to defuse the situation.

Finally reaching the bottom stairs, (y/n) saw at least half a dozen Blacklegs – with Jack at the front.

A weight she hadn’t felt till just then settled on her shoulder just as his piercing eyes landed on her. She may have not liked him at all, she may have a bad feeling just days before, but now, with him there, they had at least a bit of a chance that Art was going to get away a good distance and they’d be mostly unharmed.

„Search the building,” Jack’s Eye’s sharp command flitted through the air and his man got to the task with unmasked enthusiasm. She had to still her face not to sneer, knowing the brutishness of Blacklegs, but his look alone was a good reason for it – there wasn’t much he could do now.

She got down from the stairs, following Black Lack to stand beside Wet Stick, who was perched against the wall a bit to the side but still quite close to the sergeant. He had a frustrated expression on his face – as they too probably had, after all they’d barged in without warning before the opening hours, everyone would be frustrated – but under it there was a smudge of grimness, even if he looked the slightest relieved seeing them coming down. Art was safe, at least for now.

„You wouldn’t know where he is, would you?”

Surprisingly, she found Jack’s Eye’s attention wholly on herself. Forcing a nonchalant look, she shrugged, one shoulder raising.

„Didn’t see him since yesterday’s evening,” she said, somehow able to sound sure and calm, even though her heart was thundering out her chest.

Jack levelled her with an unimpressed look, but there wasn’t any surprise in it, he knew very well not any of them would give Arthur out.

„Very well.”

He turned to the room, looking at his men searching the place, some already gone upstairs. It wasn’t long before they all came back, reporting that they didn’t found him. Jack, again, didn’t look surprised.

„Search around the building, inform the closest patrols. If you don’t find him within an hour, report back to me.”

She felt her heart speeding up again, the small needle of fear stinging at the back of her neck, the thought of Arthur not being far enough terrifying, but steeled herself under the steady, calculating look.

Jack turned to them, just slightly, when the rest of Blacklegs left to search the streets.

„If we catch him,” he started, his voice and face not giving anything away, „or if he does anything worse by then...”

A grim sort of understanding settled itself onto her shoulders – and Back Lack’s and Wet Stick’s, if them tensing was anything to go by – and she gritted her teeth together, her jaw straining with the pressure. He didn’t need to finish. Art would fall into the king’s hands – and there was nothing worse that could happen.

Jack’s Eye looked them over one more time, stopping for a bit on her, before nodding sharply and turning around.

A quick exhale escaped her lips when he finally disappeared behind closing doors with his goons.

„Well,” Wet Stick’s voice flowed through the sudden silence, „shit.”

***

It was few hours later when they realized just how deep they were.

Business was running as usual, even after the small hiccup with Jack’s Eye, and everything seemed fine, calm and smooth, the tension only showing in Lack’s furrowing brow and the line of her shoulders. Wet Stick went to gather some information on what was going on with the Vikings – firmly stating she shouldn’t go with him, even though she wanted, because she needed to show up to her meeting with Art, if he didn’t came back before the time. It was an excuse, yeah, but she let him have it, maybe he too needed time to think. So she waited, looking out for the girls as Art always did, rigid on the inside and only collected on the outside, and just when she was about to go out Wet Stick barged into the brothel, a look of fevered urgency plain on his face.

The whole room froze, the few girls still there from the closing stopping half way in what they were doing, Lack standing up from his spot and (y/n) straightening, her heart speeding up surely beyond what was healthy. Wet Stick looked to them both, a hard breath leaving his lips in quick puffs, and then the words left his mouth.

„Art’s drawn the sword.”

In the silence that followed a pin dropping could be heard.

For a second, world faded away from her eyes, hazy and unnatural, the only focus being Wet Stick’s expression – urgent and frigid, yet still mixed with shock, like he himself didn’t quite believe it. _Could it really be..._

„You sure about that?” Back Lack’s voice cut through the silence and a collected hiss of drawing a breath followed.

(Y/n) swayed, holding herself up on the wall, weird kind of dizziness weighting her mind.

„Yeah, Chris was there, he’s seen it. He pulled the sword out of the stone, the only one in white, it has to be him.”

He was one of their more trusted informants, right about Art’s age, so it was possible. It was more than possible. And she did hand Art the white jacket herself.

„Whole Londinium will be talking about it,” she muttered under her breath, but it was so quiet that everyone present heard her easily, „if it’s not already.”

Wet Stick nodded, somehow gravely, and Lack looked between them, like he was expecting one of them to take the lead. And when their eyes finally set on her, she knew what they expected.

She looked at the girls, locking eyes with Lucy, a quiet understanding passing between them. And when Lucy ushered the rest out, all of them still in some kind of shock, (y/n) gestured her friends to the side room. They followed, of course, and by the time she turned to them again, her head was reeling with all the possibilities.

„They’re gonna come here,” she stated without a pause, a grim kind of confidence in her voice.

By the look on their faces, they thought exactly the same.

„So what do we do?” Wet Stick’s gaze didn’t leave her for a second, making the tightness in her shoulders increase with tension.

She shook her head, massaging out her slowly starting to throb temples. They obviously couldn’t fight them off and if Art really was „the born king”, with what Vortigern was like, there was a small possibility they’d come in peace.

„We need to hide,” she decided finally, looking up to them. They both nodded.

„And the girls?” Back Lack’s eyes jumped between them and she was sure he meant more than just the girls.

„We take them with us.” It wasn’t a hard decision, it’d be too easy for the king to use them for leverage over Art and they all knew it.

„How?”

„We pull some strings,” it was Wet Stick answering this time, „call in some favours and get ourselves out of here.”

She looked between the two of them, heavy dread settling in her heart. Back Lack was always a little more on the grumpy side, but this time his shoulders dipped more and there was a greater shadow in his eyes. Wet Stick, always the cheerier one, was determined, a strong resolve in his eyes and the set of his jaw. So she nodded, locking all the worry and grief deep in her mind, and they got to work.

Aware that Wet Stick was the best for this kind of task, she was a little calmer, it was amazing of how many things he was able to keep count of. And she was glad he took the lead for now, they needed to work together as perfectly as possible, if they wanted it all to work out.

„We need to separate,” she realized, not liking the thought. Wet Stick nodded, clearly following the same line of thought.

„I’ll go out, tell George, call in the favours.”

„I’ll stay, tell the girls and help them prepare.” And protect them, if anything happened. „Lack, you go get Blue?”

She turned to her other friend that sat quietly, watching them in silence, his brows furrowed.

„Yeah, I’ll get him,” he agreed grumpily, already standing up from his place.

„We meet here?”

She looked between them, trying hard to not let the fear grip her insides too tight – because, yeah, she was afraid now. They were always at least somehow secure, always with connections to pull and their wit to help, but now... Now they were up against the _King_. And Art wasn’t with them.

„Three hours.” Wet Stick stated. Firm and calm and collected, and yet she saw the spark of uncertainty in his brown eyes.

„Two. If you’re not here by then, I’m going out for you.” There was no room for discussion in her tone and the line of her jaw was sharp.

„Sure,” he smiled, a little bit of that heartfelt amusement peeking through, „but I’ll be here.”

So she nodded.

How she wished Art was with them, with his easy confidence and calm sureness, with his wit and that smug smile that never ceased to make her insides heat up.

Her heart thundered sharply, beating against her ribs almost violently, and she felt the wet, salty sting in the back of her eyes. But she blinked it away, following behind Wet Stick and Back Lack, parting at the door with painful hope that it wasn’t the last time she saw them. And then she went to the girls, Lucy readily awaiting her words. Kay looking at her with calm confidence. And she was glad she decided to stay and help them.

An hour later Back Lack was back with Blue, a small bag of scarce important things thrown over his shoulder. They all didn’t need much with the knowledge and experience they had.

She nodded to him, checking last things on her list to do. The girls were mostly ready, their own small bags packed and tucked in easy to reach places, now talking among themselves to ease the tension they all felt. (Y/n) was going around the brothel, emergency plans going through her head, as she checked if Art’s secret room was still secured and hid well and the windows were opened – just in case. There really wasn’t much more to do before Wet Stick came back.

Then the hours passed and he wasn’t anywhere in sight.

She paced in front of the red doors, some girls sited on the couches in the grand room behind her, Back Lack to the side with Blue at his shoulder. She had already strapped the daggers to her back, slid the small ones in her boots, she’s even thrown over a dark coloured cloak, because the sun was already setting, yet she couldn’t make herself go out onto the bridge. Some grave, fierce, bad feeling gripped her insides and wouldn’t let go. _Wet Stick, where are you..._

„Go.”

She turned to Lack, his expression serious. Yeah, of course she wasn’t the only one worrying.

After mulling it through her mind a second longer, she nodded and recited the emergency plan she had at the ready for hours.

„Wear something darker. If they come before me or Wet Stick, you go up to the roof through the windows and run, I’ll get you from there. If Wet Stick is back before me, go with him. I’ll catch up.”

Nods from everyone confirmed they agreed, even though she was sure some weren’t happy with the plan. With a last look to Back Lack – and a small, reassuring smile to Blue – she turned to the door, dawn already setting long shadows upon the streets. It was the perfect cover she needed, sneaking past patrols and through narrow alleys, but to her great dismay, she couldn’t find Wet Stick – not with any of their friends, not in their small hideaways, nowhere she could think of. Precious minutes passed by when finally, biting hard at her lip, almost drawing blood, she turned around to hastily make way back to the brothel. Then she heard it.

Voices, one rough and unknown, but the other very familiar. Quickening her pace, she got closer and looked from around the corner – to see Wet Stick and two Blacklegs frowning down on him.

„What do you know about the so called born king, lad?” One of the soldiers asked, his face not visible to her – they were standing with their backs to her – but there was a certain tone to his voice she didn’t like.

„Born king?” Wet Stick rose his brows, feigning innocence, then shrugged. „Not much. That he supposed to pull out some sword or other bollocks. Don’t care much about these stories to be honest, sir.”

„Really?” The Blacklegs exchanged glances, one of them laying his hand down on the hilt of his sword, the other continued with a rough voice. „And what do you know about the man that pulled a sword from said stone just yesterday?”

„Oh, did he?” Wet Stick feigned surprise – then he saw (Y/n) creeping behind their backs and changed his position a bit, still talking to mask it. „Didn’t know anything about it, sir. Definitely don’t know anything about the bloke.”

„Surely. And you deny that just two days earlier you were with-agh!”

Before he could finish, (Y/n) leaped from behind, hitting the back of his head with the hilt of her dagger.

„Hey!-”

Wet Stick didn’t wait, knocking the other one into the wall, his head making a crushing impact.

With both Blacklegs on the ground, they looked at each other with relief.

„Had to go after me, hadn’t you?” A small smile rose at his lips

„Good for you that I did,” she said, but without a trace of humour, her mind already at the brothel.

But one of the Blacklegs started stirring, a groan sounding in the air.

Wet Stick turned, ready to give a strong kick to silence him, but something made her reach out.

“Wait!” she whisper-shouted, stilling her friend.

The man started moving, so she crouched, pressing the blade under the Blackleg’s chin, his unfocused eyes locking on her with a sneer on his lips.

“What’s the King gonna do to him?”

“Wouldn’t you want to know, slut-“

The blade bit into his skin, drawing blood, and just as he was about to reach for his weapon, Wet Stick kicked his arm with a growled _careful now_ and pressed it to the ground firmly with his foot.

“Talk and maybe I won’t kill you,” she said, glad that the fury and fear made some strange calmness froze her features, keeping the blade steady.

The Blackleg’s eyes fleeted between them, seething, but there was a spark of understanding too. He was at least a bit smart, that one.

“There’ll be an execution. Two days from now, public.” A cruel smile stretched his lips. “He’ll get a nice crowd, the whole Londinium will be watching the bastard’s head roll-“

She didn’t know what came over her. Was it his words, the image, or all of the tangled mess of emotions reeling her up, but the second it pictured in her head, she jerked her arm, _hard-_

A gurgling, whizzing sound cut through the air, the Blackleg reaching up to claw at his throat, blood gushing through his fingers, eyes bugging out, breath gagging-

She wiped out the blade on his jacket and stood up, something hard and frozen weighting down her stomach. Turning around, she didn’t dare to look at Wet Stick, see his face. 

„Come on.”

Her voice was low, hoarse, as she gestured with her head. He didn’t said anything and trusting that he did everything he set out to, they rushed back to the bridge, not really caring to hide any more. It didn’t take long to get there and, fortunately, no one stopped them, only when they arrived they saw why – the amount of Blacklegs entering the bridge before them could mean only one thing.

„Quick! Go to them, I’ll cover the back!” Wet Stick whisper-shouted, hiding around the corner.

(Y/n) just nodded and hastily got to climbing the closest building, her breath already ragged and uneven. Just as she emerged at the top, a loud pounding broke the silence, the doors to the brothel creaking in the distance. With heart racing, she rushed to the right roof, hoping dearly that at least some would get out before...

A loud crash resonated through the air as she jumped onto the brothel’s roof and a second after that a head looked out from the edge. Blue climbed from the window.

In a flash (Y/n) was beside him, helping him up, with not even a second to waste.

„I can do it! Help them!”

From the other window one of the girls climbed out, with not much skill too, so she changed her position, clasped her hand and hoisted her up. Blue was up and helping too just a second after, Blacklegs’ shouting coming from down the street. Together they managed to help two more girls before the shouting inside intensified – coming not only from the soldiers – and Back Lack showed up in the window, climbing himself. Fear gripped (Y/n)’s insides.

„Blue check-”

„On it!”

She gripped Back Lack’s hand and hoisted him up to the roof. When they were both secure, their eyes met and she knew, before she even heard Blue shouting that the girls were outside, manhandled by Blacklegs. 

„Come on! Before they’ll spot us!” she said, voice low but firm, even though something was insistently squeezing at her throat, and started back the way she came, everyone else falling behind.

A cacophony of sounds followed them – Blacklegs’ shouts and orders, screams of the innocents, boots stomping on the stone and creaking of furniture being thrown around. (Y/n) didn’t look back, but her gut was twisting itself into knots and she could hear the small whimpers of the few girls they were able to help – Lucy wasn’t with them.

„C’mon, here!” A whisper-shout came from between two buildings, Wet Stick gesturing them down.

So they climbed down, (Y/n) helping anyone that had trouble, their breaths ragged and bodies rigid. And when they were finally on the ground, creeping alongside the shadows to get inside and out of the city, she realised some new light reaching them – it was growing for some time now, but they couldn’t see it between walls.

A sharp breath left her lips, carving its way out like an edge of a knife going up her chest.

Flames, bright and dancing in the distance, engulfed the brothel, reaching out of windows and licking at the roof.

They’ve burned it.

Back Lack was the first to break out of shock.

„C’mon, we need to _go_!” He took her elbow in hand and tugged harshly, only then making her turn around.

There was a stinging behind her eyes, salty and wet, but it had to wait. Blacklegs’ were still swarming the street, maybe even looking for them, their home was burning, lightning up the sky – but they had to get through.

She had to get through. For Blue, for the girls.

And for Art.

***

She’s never seen a crowd so big in her entire life. Did all the population of Londinium gather to see the born king?

Their boss. Their friend.

_Her_ Arthur.

Was it even possible that he was the one King Vortigern feared so much? She’d give anything for it to be false, to have him by her side and watch someone else in his place – but it wasn’t so. And when the King walked out, showing off the fur, the armour, himself, when he commandeered the whole crowd to chant, they stayed silent. Wet Stick at her side, searching the people around them, Back Lack somewhere more to the right, at the edge of the crowd with Blue in tow. She wanted to be as close as possible, with good view, so they stood few rows back from the line of soldiers on horses – a helpless hope that maybe, if they’re close enough, maybe they’re gonna save him somehow. It wasn’t impossible, she knew, unless some miracle happened. But wasn’t him pulling out the sword a miracle in and on itself? Couldn’t they get one more?

The big doors behind Vortigern opened, a lone figure walking out, bound.

She almost took a step back, sharp breath leaving her lungs. There he was. Wrists and ankles bound, his clothes dirty, and such pain on his face. What did they do?

Without a thought, she moved forth, only to be stopped by a hand on her arm.

Wet Stick’s face was grief-stricken as he called her name.

„You know there’s nothing we can do to rescue him...”

She looked at him for a long moment, _just looked_, breath heaving, almost panting, her mind blank, safe for just one thought. She distantly heard a voice booming from the „stage”, taunting the _born king_. Turning back there was only part of Arthur’s form visible behind a soldier, kneeling and bound to the stomp.

„I know,” she breathed out, before looking back to Wet Stick, hardening herself, „but I won’t forgive myself if I won’t try.”

His shoulders dropped, but his lips twitched upward for the tinniest bit. He nodded, though she saw the dread deep in his eyes. She was thankful for that, nonetheless.

They turned, trying to make their way closer, but that’s when everything went sideways. The dogs, the horses – all the animals went crazy, people got rigid with panic and the crowd started to move away, a mass that almost took them with it. Instead of moving forward, they were pulled in all directions.

And they were too far back!

„No!” she screamed, trying to break trough.

The scream of her name cut through as Wet Stick grabbed her hand. „The girls! They’re running away! Come on!”

She tore her arm away, eyes set on Arthur. And that’s when she saw them – two man running up the stairs, cutting the ropes, hoisting him up.

„Art!” her scream died in the cacophony, yet Arthur stilled for a split second, turning just so, like he somehow heard it above the tumult, but then there’s the bearded man, pulling him along – and Art run for his life.

She wanted to go after him, join them, whoever they were, anything to be sure he’ll be alright, but yet again she was stopped.

„C’mon, (Y/n), we need to get the girls–!” He screamed, their bodies still being pulled with the crowd.

„But–”

„You won’t get to him in time!” Wet Stick was already dragging her away by then. „C’mon! He’ll make it!”

Her heart almost stopped then. Arthur’s silhouette was already gone from her sight, with blacklegs hot on his heels and some strange men helping him dying at their hands. So she relented, with dread almost crippling her to her knees. Running after Wet Stick, she saw the girls and Back Lack already with them, and trough it all her heart beat like crazy, like it wanted to break through her ribs, through her chest and go after the love of her life. But she kept running, filled with fear and the slim chance of seeing him again.

*

He was there not even full two days and he had already had enough.

_„...What you can do with the sword...”_

_„... You’re resisting the sword...”_

Sword _this_ and sword _that_ – seemed to Art like they only cared about that bloody thing. And overthrowing Vortigern, of course.

Fuming quietly on the inside, he strode through the corridors, not sparing the many people even a glance. They weren’t at fault, but he also didn’t care. If his home were razed and all the... all the lads and girls, and... (Y/n) – they had to be somewhere. They’ve known better than to wait patiently till Blacklegs came and destroyed everything they had.

He didn’t want anything to do with all of this mess. Not with the bloody sword, not the Resistance, not the responsibility nor the king. He wanted his life, his friends, his love, back to where it was before those bloody Vikings and the magic sharpy stick. But he couldn’t – and it made his blood boil and jaw clench in silent fury.

So he found them, those bastards. Bedivere and Goosfat stood around a table, hunched over some maps or plans strewn about – that he didn’t care about – with Rubio and Percy hanging around.

„Alright,” he said at the entrance, catching all the attention, as he wanted, „I’ll work with ya.” He looked between Bedivere and Goosfat, catching their eyes. „But I have one condition.” His voice was low and sure, steel hard. He was done playing and they should know it.

Bedivere’s eyes took in his posture, his crossed arms, his clenched jaw and the sharp line of his brow, before going to Bill’s for a second – and then he nodded, gesturing to him to go ahead.

„I want my people here.”

All of them looked slightly surprised, incredulous even.

„We told you your home was–”

„I remember.” He looked at Bill, breaking into his sentence. He’d had enough of it all already. „They wouldn’t sit around and wait for Blacklegs when they knew I’ve drawn that bloody thing.”

„And how would they know?” Goosfat still wasn’t on board, as it seemed.

Arthur’s jaw clenched harder, before he forcefully relaxed it.

„And how do you think we survived this long? We have our own connections.” He looked between the two, seeing if they wanted to add something else and ignoring Percy and Rubio for the time being. When they stayed silent, he straightened some more. „They’ll be in hiding, outside the city. The lads and all the girls they were able to save.”

„And you want all of them here?” Bedivere asked, raising his brow, as if to make sure.

„Without exception.”

This time it was Bedivere that straightened, clearly mulling over his words. Arthur didn’t lower his eyes or change his posture, there was tension in the set of his shoulders, something sharp and unmoving in the lines of his face. When finally Bedivere turned to Bill, nodding, he didn’t feel relief – he would when he saw them.

„How do I know it’s them?” Goosfat looked up at him.

„You already saw them at the brothel,” he said simply, but knew what the next words would be, so he followed. „There’ll be two man with them, one pale, one dark skinned, a small boy at their side.” He stopped for a split second, a tightness squeezing at his throat. „And a woman. Twin blades at her back, wears leathers. That’s how you’ll know.”

A thoughtful look crossed Bill’s features, while the rest of them seemed slightly surprised by his last words. He couldn’t blame them, although his gut twisted painfully in a mix of longing and pride. She had to be safe. She had to... right?

„I think I remember them,” Goosfat said after a while, straightening, recognition in his eyes.

„Good.” He let himself sigh inwardly. „Then find them.”

He couldn’t have his old life back, as much as he wanted, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try to get back at least a part of it.

*

Few days later, pacing inside the hide out, (y/n) wondered if a miracle has really happened. Almost all the girls were with them, the rest vanished, their home was razed, they had nothing, but Arthur was safe.

At least – she hoped he was safe.

Whoever rescued him couldn’t be worse than Vortigern... she hoped, again. They wouldn’t break him, that she was sure, but what exactly could be those people motif? To use him? To help him? The thoughts were eating at her mind and sanity, rarely ceasing.

Wet Stick walked into the room, his face a picture of a long sigh he was holding in – like they all were, for the girl’s and their own sakes.

„We need to get out of here,” Back Lack said from his place at the table.

The lack of Lucy with the girls at his side was almost too painful to swallow.

„Yeah, I know, but we don’t exactly have where to go.”

She closed her eyes, but knew Wet Stick was right. They considered going to George’s, but he had enough of Blacklegs at his doors without them. The abandoned house few miles away from Londinium was their best option – and at least the runs for supplies were a distraction. But they had to do something. Arthur was out there, alone among strangers. She couldn’t just wait!

Setting her jaw, she grabbed her daggers and swung them into the sheaths on her back. All the eyes turned to her, but she just waved them off – they knew she just needed some alone time to think. She wasn’t going to go far, she wasn’t stupid, and she didn’t ever leave without her blades. Not since _that_ day.

When she finally stepped outside, a long sigh left her lips. It was already dark, the stars twinkling at her from the sky. It was quiet, peaceful. Arthur would have loved it.

She shuddered, a wave of sadness and longing tugging at her heart, wetting her eyes.

Something stirred behind her.

She attacked before he could. The blow was quickly deflected, but she followed it with another. Driven by fear, adrenaline, pure instinct, she didn’t realise he wasn’t attacking or being in any way aggressive – all the way on the defensive – until she had the edge of her blade at his throat, the other one still ready to strike.

He raised his hands slowly, dropping his own knife, eyes locked on hers. She knew him from somewhere.

„Who are you?” she asked calmly, the edge cutting a bit into his skin, no yet breaking it.

„I’m from the Resistance,” he said quickly, voice hoarse and a bit scratchy, „your beloved leader is with us.”

That’s when she recognised him.

„You hid in the brothel, didn’t you?” There was a spark in his eyes. „What do you want?” Her voice was more forceful, a steely edge to it. She wouldn’t be played.

„I’m here to take you to him. All of you. It was his condition.”

It was her turn to be surprised, though she wouldn’t show it.

„We have shelter. Safe, full of food and people to defend it.”

She didn’t move, their eyes locked. It almost sounded too good to be true, and yet...

The door to the house creaked open and Wet Stick appeared in the doorway, a surprise clear on his face – but he recognised the man far quicker than she did.

„Oi, I know you! Goosfat Bill...” His voice was thoughtful, but not deprived of suspicion. His eyes still on the man, but turned to her. „What’s going on?”

She was silent for a second, mulling over Bill’s words. It was possible he spoke truly.

„He wants to take us to the Resistance.” She said finally, an edge to her words.

Wet Stick came a few steps down, posture guarded.

„And why would they want us there?” He stopped at her side, a clear message to the stranger.

„He says Art’s with them.” Her voice almost quivered, but her hands stayed steady. „Said he wants us there.”

Wet Stick looked to her, then to the other man, and was silent for a long second, before his quiet breath sounded in the air.

„That kinda makes sense, actually.”

(Y/n)’s heart skipped, it’s beat quickening, blood pulsing inside her veins. She almost couldn’t believe it – but if Wet Stick allowed this spark of hope, then maybe...

They exchanged quick looks, a silent agreement met almost instantly – there wasn’t any other option, really.

Hesitantly, she drew her blade back.

„Alright... But–” The blade stopped an inch from the skin of his throat. „If anything happens to him, or any of us, you’re gonna pay.” Her eyes didn’t leave his, steady and serious.

„Of course.” Goosfat Bill smiled slightly.

And she didn’t know if she liked it.


	2. Of plans and resistance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!  
I know said I'll publish this chapter after I finish the 4th part, which I didn't, but seeing as february is one of the busiest months for me, what with my uni stuff, studies, lectures, assignments, etc., I decided to publish this part earlier. It's a little more fluff than story, so hopefully that'll be nice ^^ I don't know when part 3 will be up, but I'd say don't expect it too soon, I may not have time to write this month. The next one maybe - if everything works out, I'll have some weeks off and hopefully I'll write some then.  
And thank you for all the kudos and comments and asks on tumblr, it really warms my heart and keeps me going.  
So, enjoy! ^^

It gritted on their nerves, how the journey to the Resistance base took the better part of the day – most probably because Goosfat Bill didn’t seem to be in a hurry – when all she wanted was to see Arthur safe and well as fast as possible. Her eyes didn’t really stray to meet with Back Lack or Wet Stick’s irritated gazes too much, but they knew each other long enough to know how they all felt – only Blue looked happy, sat in front of her on the horse, as she had the most experience on horseback, which, yeah, that part was fun, actually. She wasn’t expecting they’d bring horses with them and although they still had to sit two on one, they weren’t that small of a bunch afterall, it was a joy anyway, one she almost forgot through the years spent in the crowded streets of Londinium.

„We’ll see Boss when we get there. Right?” Blue asked sometime into the ride, voice hopeful, yet posture skittish and nervous.

Her shoulders dropped, guts twisting painfully, but he couldn’t see it.

„I hope so,” she said, then ruffled his hair. „You know how he is, he’ll surely make a great entrance.”

He laughed, swatting away her hand, and quieted, content to just look around. She was reminded then that Blue was never outside Londinium, never seen so much green, never seen mountains up close. Her heart soared at the thought – it must have been a sight for him. Looking to the side and her eyes met with Wet Stick’s, Kay sat behind him. By the wistful gaze he seemed to have similar thoughts. At least Blue got something nice to remember from all of the mess.

And although the sight was beautiful, the journey still lasted more than she’d like. When they finally arrived, inside a conglomeration of caves or something of sorts, her thighs were sore, her bum hurt and she wanted nothing more than to see for herself that Arthur was alright – only to be informed he wasn’t there at all.

„What do you mean he’s not here?!” Her voice raised almost to a growl, hands balling into fists and eyes set on Goosfat. That wasn’t what they agreed upon.

Similar sentiments followed from Wet Stick and Back Lack.

„Exactly my thoughts. Where is he?”

For the first time since she saw him, Goosfat looked less than nonchalant.

„I thought he’d be here by now,” he said, hands raised as if to calm them. „But he should be here soon.”

„When?” She breathed out, trying to relax her hands. Enough cramps for one day.

„Tomorrow night at worst.”

She didn’t look away for a long while, before finally exhaling a deep breath. There was no choice now, not since exiting the safehouse, really.

So they waited, and ate, and then were shown where they would stay, led through winding paths full of a lot of smaller caves and alcoves. Fortunately, they weren’t that far from each other – the Resistance or whoever lead them seemed to think they’d want to stick together, or maybe Arthur told them. Whichever it was, it still surprised her when she was led to a bit more secluded area, with one bed and a ring of stones for a fireplace. It was more like a corridor with an alcove for the bed, what with the open structure, but it looked nice, cozy even. Then she saw it.

The white jacket.

The one she handed him that fateful morning. The one he was to be executed in. Layed out on the furs it seemed rugged and slightly dirty, but when she took it into her hands, it was still as soft as she remembered. And just as she was raising it up to her face, not really thinking about why she was doing it, an insistent cough sounded behind her.

With a little confusion she turned her head to the source – and a young man, or rather still a boy just growing into a man, stood at the entrance. In a flash it brought up a thought of Arthur in that age, brimming with vigour, playful and cocky, not yet as self-assured as he was now, calmed with experience, but with the same energy underneath. The boy was different though, almost at the other end of the spectrum – he stood straight, a bit tense, his cheeks flushed a light pink. He seemed somewhat awkward.

In a silent question she raised a single brow at him, to which he looked away.

„They’ve spotted them. He should be here soon.”

Her heart stuttered inside her chest, a breath leaving her lungs unbidden. She’d see him soon. _Finally_. It almost didn’t want to register, wavering on the edge of her mind.

He shifted from foot to foot, then gestured with his head.

„I’ll get you to the others.”

Guessing he meant Back Lack and Wet Stick, maybe Blue with them, she nodded and followed, falling in step with the boy. He was only slightly taller than her, build much like Arthur. A small smile twitched at the corners of her lips, despite the storm already brewing just underneath her sternum.

„What’s your name?” she asked, voice curious, but soft.

He only glanced at her, keeping his eyes forward.

„Rubio.”

„Hm, nice to meet you then, Rubio.”

She offered her name, but he only nodded, not even looking back, and her smile grew. It was kind of funny, despite the circumstances.

*

Back Lack and Wet Stick sat at a small table in a more secluded cave that connected with the opening one. Blue seemingly couldn’t stop squirming in his chair at his father’s side. She went straight to them, after murmuring a quiet thanks to her guide. Back Lack nodded in welcome, but Wet Stick’s gaze followed Rubio out, his face curious. Blue smiled, wide and eager, at seeing her.

„Did they tell you something more?” she asked first, sliding into a chair across the table from them and flicking Blue’s hair with a teasing look. He huffed at her, swatting her hand, but didn’t stop smiling. 

„More than that they spotted them? No luck there.” Wet Stick said, his fingers drumming on the wood.

She sighed, looking around for anything that could catch her attention in the meantime. There were some other members of resistance scattered at the tables or milling about, going through with their own things, but nothing out of ordinary. Some would spare them a glance, the looks varying from curious to slightly disbelieving, others ignored them completely. She wondered if Art got it the same.

So they sat there, waiting, talking idly about anything that came to mind, wondering, trying to keep still, keep the obvious shittish energy at bay and not freak out on every small out of place sound, and just as she thought she may burst at the seams from the coiling tension under her sternum, finally – _finally_ – a more prominent commotion sounded from the outside.

Goosfat Bill came to stand slightly behind their table and the guy with red beard she saw at the execution came inside, shot them a surprised look that morphed into understanding, then gestured to the other members of Resistance. They disappeared immediately and she felt her heart speed up, thud at her ribs, Back Lack and Wet Stick looking around curiously, with Blue twitching in his place like he couldn’t wait any longer. She exchanged glances with them and a silent understanding was met. Goosfat Bill didn’t move and the red bearded guy stepped to the side.

She turned slightly to the entrance, her whole body taunt with anticipation and dread, the voices from outside reaching her ears. First muffled, then they became more prominent–

That’s when she heard it.

The low, husky voice – a lilt to it so familiar it couldn’t be mistaken.

She raised from her place without even noticing, two pairs of eyes not belonging to her friends bored in her form, but she didn’t care. And after a breath longer, shaky and shallow, they finally came inside – a black man, standing straight and noble, a woman, petite but stern, and–

„Art!”

It broke out before she realized, on a single exhale, not yet believing, but this time–

This time he heard, turned at her voice, looked–

The brightest of smiles curved his lips – a look on his face like he too didn’t quite believe his eyes.

The shaky breath of her name slipping from his lips almost broke her.

Before anyone could react, she was on her feet and reaching for Arthur – the black man and the woman stepping aside – her hands on his chest, on his cheek, eyes following all the bruises, cuts and wounds. His own hand came up, cupping the side of her face, rough and calloused and warm, yet somehow even more more coarse. Her heart thundered so fiercely she feared it would break her ribs open to get to him.

„So good to see you, love...” he murmured, thumbs smoothing out the skin on her cheeks, forehead leaned on hers, eyes only _for_ her, as if the world faded away, as if he wasn’t barely standing.

„You look horrible.” It was low, shaky, a horrible, nasty feeling just climbing and scratching on her ribs.

Arthur laughed, a startled, happy kind of sound, shaking his head like it was a good joke. But she wasn’t a fool, no, he was injured, cuts, bruises, bandages, like never before, and it made that fierce, furious coil in her belly reach up and _snap._

A faint „hear you go” sounded in the background as her jaw shut tight, hand in a fist.

„I’m going to kill him–” Her body twisted, turning, eyes on Goosfat–

„Hey, hey! Easy there, darling–” Arthur turned with her, leaned forward, tried to reach, grab her arm–

And stumbled with a gasp.

Fear shot down her spine, body reacting quickly enough to catch and steady him only on pure instinct. Her heart thundering on her ribs with shock.

A breath left his lips as Art straightened, flashing his usual smile at her – but she didn’t quite believe it, no, not when adrenaline was still pumping in her veins while she tried not to think about how weak and injured he truly must have been.

„It’s not their fault. I mean, it is, but it’s a long story...”

Their eyes locked, her heart soaring in a painful twist even when he straightened again to tower over her as per usual – but his stance was unsure. There was a blanket over him, a bandage on his head and so many bruises... She felt more than heard Wet Stick and Back Lack standing up.

„Could you give us some space, mates?” Wet Stick’s voice was clear, the message straight even if his tone was his usual, nonchalant one.

Just then Arthur looked past her shoulder, at his friends, and his face warmed up. Quietly, the woman and the men from Resistance left.

Wet Stick and Back Lack came closer, Blue behind.

„Good to see you, lads,” Art said, warmth in his voice, and she stepped to the side so they could exchange hugs with lots of back clapping.

„Good to see you too, boss.”

„Though it had been better...”

„I missed you too, mates,” he laughed, then looked at Blue, standing at their side quietly, fidgeting. He smiled wider and ruffled the boy’s hair. „You too, Blue.”

Blue brightened instantly, smiling up at Art, but then his eyes found the sword – a beautiful piece of weaponry, she had to admit – and his eyes rounded up, the excitement almost bursting out from his little body.

He did make a graffiti about the born king, didn’t he?

She looked up at Art and after their eyes met, it was clear his side of the story had to come first.

*

It took some time, but, finally, they were alone. So he told them, all of it.

And through it all her jaw was clenched so tight she thought it may snap.

_How could they sent him there?!_ As if they cared none about the man they vowed they waited for – and years, for that matter. Arthur remained calm, collected, but the absence of jokes was a clear message in and on itself – something happened there, something more than he was telling. But that, it seemed, had to wait.

Then came their side of the story – and as much as she’d like to reassure Arthur, it too wasn’t pretty.

But Wet Stick and Back Lack took care of the talking, so she had plenty of time to just watch – his pained expression, his raising temper, the anger simmering within. She knew it all too well. But it was the injuries that occupied most of her mind – there were so many... When he stumbled, she would have shot to her feet along Wet Stick if she hadn’t anticipated Art’s reaction. The chair clattered on the ground, an uneasiness settling in the silence that followed Arthur’s quiet promise of revenge.

Feeling her heart soar and tighten again, she was thankful when he asked their friends to give them a moment alone.

„Love?”

His soft voice as much as the look in his eyes made her almost jump to her feet. In two strides she clasped the outstretched hand and Art carefully pulled her to his chest, the blanket covered arms embracing her shoulders. She put her hands on his chest, careful not to cause him pain, hesitant to fully hug him.

Arthur laughed quietly, his palms soothingly running over her back.

„You treat me as if I was made of glass, darling. Didn’t know you had it in there,” he joked, but she wasn’t amused. Not even slightly.

„You look like death, Art,” she said, looking up at him, somber and worried. „Any other time I’d be all over you and you know it.”

He’d laugh in any different situation, for sure, but not this time. This time he just smiled that soft smile of his, raising a hand up to her face, thumb tracing a smooth line on the cheekbone.

„I’ve missed you, love,” he murmured, his voice low and soft, and warm, and it made tears prickle at the back of her eyes, vision clouding. Concern flashed on his face. „Hey, don’t, darling–”

„Art.”

That stopped him. Was it her tone or the quivering of her voice, no matter, his attention was all hers.

„There was a moment I thought I won’t see you again. Or that I’ll see your head rolling on the ground... I-” Her voice gave out and she shook her head, tears finally rolling down her cheeks, hot and stinging.

Arthur wiped them away softly, cupping her face, and brought their foreheads together.

„I’m here, love. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. Not without you. Not again.”

And that’s when her defences finally broke, the walls crumbling around all the longing, helplessness and grief, making her embrace him fully, her head burrowed in his chest, shivering, trembling, trying not to soak through his shirt. But Arthur returned it in kind, arms circling her shoulders, tighter, pulling her in, the warmth of his body still the same, comforting like fur blanket. She could stay like this forever, she really could. Yet the reality was nagging at her mind, reminding of his injured state – his heavy leaning on her and barely noticeable swaying.

„You should go and rest now,” she murmured into his chest, not keen on letting him go just yet, reveling in the way his hands smoothed over her spine. His deep, low chuckle reverberated through his body, into her own, the sound filling her mind.

„You’re probably right,” he said, his voice amused.

She raised her head to look at him, surprised at the lack of nonchalant denial. He caught the look in her eyes and smiled wider, his nose brushing with hers.

„Don’t look so shocked, darling. After that wretched land I could use a breather.”

She shook her head slightly, his tale of the Darklands vivid in her mind.

„I can’t imagine how horrible it must have been.”

„Wasn’t so bad.”

He shrugged slightly, the look in his eyes clearly showing his thoughts were somewhere else. So she didn’t say a word, waiting patiently till he was ready to tell her, hands lightly brushing his back. After a long while, he released a deep breath and looked back into her eyes. She almost gasped at the pain and sorrow she saw.

„I know now. What my nightmares are about...” his voice was quiet, barely a whisper.

The weight on his shoulders seemed almost a visible thing.

Tightening the embrace just a small bit, she kept quiet. It was his choice, she would listen, but she also wouldn’t press. His gaze took her face in, slowly, like he wanted to commit every inch to memory, before their eyes met again and he continued.

„The voice I heard, the one that always told me to run... It was my father’s.”

A short breath left his lips, as if in relief, his hands tangling itself in the hair at the nape of her head. She planted a kiss above his heart, not breaking their eye contact.

„He screamed for me to run, while he was tied in a battle with his own brother... And Vortigern killed him. Wanted the kingdom and the sword for himself.” A grimace twisted Art’s features, the anger clear on his face. He looked away for a moment. „The stone was my father...”

Quiet gasp left her lips, the weight of his words settling in sharply. He saw all of this.

„These are your memories...”

His head lowered, eyes closing, and she felt her heart soar and twist in pain. She knew how it felt to lost your loved ones, but for them to be killed by their own family and _see_ that with her own eyes...

„I’m so, so sorry, Art–”

„Don’t be.” His head turned sharply to her, his eyes flashing for a second, before softening again. „I was small, barely remember anything.” A long sigh left his lips, his body deflating. „It’s just good to finally know.”

She nodded. Couldn’t really, wholly understand, but did in her own way. And she would be there for him, whatever happened, whatever demons of the past would appear to haunt him.

Before she could say something more though, Arthur straightened himself and planted a sweet kiss on her forehead.

„Come now, love. I want to go lay down and you’re going with me, I don’t care what place they showed to you, you’re staying with me.”

She laughed, letting him stir her the right way, his one arm around her shoulders and hers around his waist. She smiled up at him, a spark of mischievousness.

„Well, then it’s good they showed me to your bed, isn’t it?”

*

The tension was clear in the air. At one table their little gang – girls scattered around, Art at the head, herself, Wet Stick, Back Lack and Blue on his sides. And at the other table the Resistance – Goosfat, which she already knew, the red bearded man and the leader, as it seemed, a black man with clearly high status in the past. Rubio was also with them, which was a little surprising until she realized he was probably learning from the experience.

Then Arthur started, of course, breaking the tension with how he introduced them, his usual wit and nonchalance coming quite handy with the flippant way he juggled their names. And she allowed herself to feel a little satisfaction as he finished with her own, even though the _my lovely..._ preceding almost made her blush and nudge him under the table. But it all ceased to matter in a matter of minutes.

„So...”

And it started, the planning to take down Vortigern.

She listened closely, but at the same time couldn’t help herself not to glance at Arthur’s wounds, the bandage on his head, the way he leaned to his right and covered his ribs. How was he to do anything in this state? It hurt deep within her – and it wasn’t the injuries only. It was his voice, his tone while he tried to persuade Bedivere that they don’t need the barons. It was... angry, almost, strained with tension, no trace of his usual good-natured humour, nonchalance or cockiness. Gone was his usual self and though she couldn’t blame him, it made her insides twist in a painful knot.

„We’ll arrange the meeting with barons all the same,” Bedivere said at the end, his tone finite. „We’ll try and then see what will come of it.”

And then he just walked out, like there was nothing more to discuss.

Arthur released a long sigh, but he didn’t say anything more. Goosfat threw them a long look before following Bedivere out, Percival and Rubio closely behind them. They weren’t persuaded, but she could detect the lack of firmness in their voices and faces – they were open to Art’s thinking, just had to try out their own first. After all, the support of the barons couldn’t hurt them.

When they disappeared from view, girls got up and went their own ways, leaving the four of them at the table.

Arthur reached out his hand to her then and she grasped it, their fingers entwining. She covered their joined hands with her other one, letting them rest on her lap. Only when she looked up to Arthur’s eyes did she realize how tense she was, his small smile lined with familiar humour.

„Relax, darling,” he said, his voice light and warm, „few days and I’ll be as good as new.”

„Yeah, you meant weeks?” Wet Stick’s voice added jokingly.

„Thanks, mate.” Arthur threw him a bemused look, but he just shrugged.

And despite the situation, she smiled a bit, the banter a much welcome change in these last days.

„Don’t want to burst ya’ bubble,” Back Lack started, his voice gruff, though the worry apparent under it, „but a picture you are, barely walking. They shouldn’t arrange the meeting before you recover.”

„They won’t.”

A strained, feminine voice joined in, sounding strangely forced and gravely, as the Mage walked in. Almost all the heads turned to her, but she paid them no mind, a bowl in one hand and bandages in the other. She went straight to (Y/n).

„And how do you know?” Wet Stick crossed his arms, watching the Mage. Curious, but wary.

„I talked to them,” she said simply, some of the gruffness leaving her voice. „He’s no fit for it.”

„And he’s here.”

The Mage ignored Arthur completely, stopping at (Y/n)’ side and putting the bandages and the bowl down before her – there was a dark, greenish paste with strong, herby scent. She could easily guess what it was, but she didn’t need to.

„For the open ones, two times a day.”

(Y/n) looked up to the Mage from the bowl, their eyes meeting, and she nodded her understanding. The Mage nodded back sharply and went straight to the entrance, disappearing as quickly as she appeared.

With a bit of hesitance, her eyes went down to the bowl, uneasiness tightening her throat. This couldn’t be a ruse, could it? Arthur was still their best hope for overthrowing Vortigern and Mage helped them, so it must be a real medicine, not–

„Love?”

Arthur’s voice broke her out of her thoughts, making her gaze met up with his.

„What is it?” he asked softly, his fingers tightening around her own.

She looked down to the bowl yet again, before following back to his eyes, something heavy tearing at her insides.

„Are you sure we can trust them?” her voice quivered despite her best efforts to stay calm, but there was only understanding in Art’s face.

„I don’t know,” he said, low and soft, sincere. A sigh left his lips as he shifted in his place. „But right now they’re our best option. And we are theirs. They need us as much as we need them.” 

„You mean they need _you_,” Back Lack threw in, gruff and uneasy.

„Yeah, and they very well know that where I am, you are,” Art’s voice sounded a bit impatient, frustrated, but they all knew what it meant. It was all gritting on their nerves.

She released a long breath, eyes set on the bowl, on the greenish paste, it’s herby scent in her nostrils. At least it smelled right – that was a good sign, wasn’t it?

„Why have enemies when you can have friends,” she murmured, gaze looking up first to Lack and Wet Stick, to then land on Arthur, echoing one of his favourite phrases. „Right?”

His lips twitched in the corners, face softening from the frown that was etched into it for some time now. He nodded and straightened himself, gesturing to the bowl with his chin.

„Let’s try it, then.”

He rose slowly from his place, somehow without stumbling, and she took the bowl and the bandages in hand, hoping that whatever or whoever looked after them, sending those miracles, was still watching.

*

Arthur healed fast despite their disbelief – and most probably thanks to the Mage’s medicine that turned out to be really helpful – but it still took few weeks before he was fully back to his strength. The Resistance didn’t halt, though, in their pursuit to overthrow Vortigern, so plans and runs were made constantly. Whichever were possible to do without Art were first to go, then he’d eventually join them when fully recovered. She dreaded that day and simultaneously couldn’t wait for it – there wasn’t much to do in the cave beside training, talking or just plain laying down. Of course, she loved spending time cuddled with Art under the furs, warm and nice, but it also... well, it was a test for a whole different reason.

It was a few days before their planned run to Londinium. They were laying in the bed, the cave already quiet and dark, when she stretched beside Arthur, a long sigh leaving her lips. She was tightly pressed to his side, head on his shoulder, her leg over his hip and arm on his toned stomach.

His hands were doing definitely too much and not enough at once – one at her waist, the other drawing slow circles on her thigh.

„And what’s that, darling?”

She shifted onto her elbow, leaning more on his body – finally without the worry of causing him pain – to comfortably look up at his face, chin in one palm. Her eyes roamed over his handsome features, the sharp lines of his cheekbones, his brow, to the softness of his hair and beard. It was comforting, familiar.

Arthur’s own action mirrored hers, his eyes taking in all of her face, down to her neck, his hand raising to cup her jaw, hers gliding up his chest. It was a familiar rush, warmth spreading through their bodies, flaring up their veins. Before she realised it, she was leaning down and Art was raising up. And when their lips finally met, it was like a huge weight fell off her shoulders, a relief so sweet and all consuming washing over her heart that for a second she forgot about the world around.

Tightening his hold on her, Art deepened the kiss, drawing her in closer, more and more, the air getting much too hot and sticky under the furs, the friction sweet, but not enough – not _nearly _enough. Feeling him shifting beside her, she finally parted their kiss, a quiet gasp leaving her lips.

Their ragged breathes filled the calm and quiet air of the small alcove, noses still bumping and heart’s racing. Art’s thumb traced her jaw, fingers tangled in the hair at her nape.

„What’s wrong, love?” the quiet, hoarse whisper send a hot shiver down her spine as his mouth traced her cheek.

„Well, for one, there’s no walls here.”

He broke into quiet chuckles, the quivering of her voice only serving to punctuate her point.

„That’s quite a shame, isn’t it?” his voice was amused, low and warm, making her body go insanely hot.

She threw him a look, but couldn’t help the smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

„Tell you what, love. We’re taking tomorrow off,” he stated, nonchalant, but she knew that voice very well, under it he was serious. „We’ll get some food, blankets and get away from here. What do you say?” He bumped her nose with his, a twinkle in his eyes.

„A tempting offer,” she mused, low and sultry, before raising a brow in a bit provoking way. „But... are we even allowed to do that?”

He snorted and her mouth stretched into a smile. It was a perfect button to press, he hated being bossed around.

„Don’t care.” The arm around her waist tightened, drawing her even more into his body, their lips almost brushing with his next words. „To hell with them. The only thing I care about is you and some alone time for us, and _only_ us.”

She trembled almost visibly, a delicious, warm shiver raking through her body. It was a tempting thought indeed. So much so she didn’t even answer – or did, but with a kiss and a promise for tomorrow.

*

The day was lovely.

They got out of the cave with the dawn, almost unnoticed – Back Lack stumbled upon them, but a look was enough to know what they were up to (he just waved his hand at them and went his way) – took what they needed and disappeared into the woods. Arthur somehow knew his way around pretty well and after an hour or so they were at a lovely lake with a small island in the middle. Throwing her a knowing smile, he took her to a bridge, narrow and made of stone, pretty in its minimalism. Then they made themselves comfortable among the scarce trees on the island, to spend there almost the whole day.

Somewhere around noon, when sun was high above and the air was crispy, Arthur started taking off his clothes in front of her. A little dumbfounded laugh left her mouth.

„What are you doing?”

He smiled the cheeky smile of his, throwing his shirt on the blanket.

„Care for a swim, darling?”

„I’m afraid I’m not a good swimmer...”

„That’s alright.” Only in his undergarment, he reached out his hand, his eyes twinkling. „It’s pretty shallow here.”

She was hesitant, but only for a second, before grabbing his hand and moving up to her feet. And just when she was standing upright, he released his grip and went straight to the water – losing the last of his clothes in the process.

Shocked, she watched him go as if frozen, but then a huge grin stretched her lips and without a second thought she was right behind him, clothes on the ground and cold water washing at her skin. The smile on his face, in his eyes, was enough to compensate any inconveniences. And she couldn’t remember when was the last time they laughed and played and kissed that much, in one day.

It could last forever for her. She really wouldn’t mind. So it was only few hours later when they finally felt at least somewhat at peace.

Sitting together, cuddled, her in Arthur’s lap, legs astride his thighs and blankets threw over their shoulders, still naked, their bodies and breaths calming only so. Arthur was still tracing the line of her neck with his nose, his arms around her waist and shoulder, keeping them under the warm blanket. For the first time in weeks she was content, not thinking ahead or back, just there and then, her fingers slowly combing through his golden hair and cheek resting on his forehead. It was nice and calm, perfect.

„I’m never leaving you again,” he murmured into her collarbone, his lips leaving a barely there brush of a kiss.

She hummed, smiling a bit.

„Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, Art,” she reminded him, calm and low, but felt Arthur tensing, looking up to her.

„And what do you mean by that?”

His brow was furrowed and her heart twisted as if in pain, uneasy. A light sigh left her lips.

„You’re going to be a king soon–”

„Not so sure about that, love,” he interrupted, a tad bit grudgingly, but she pressed forth.

„–And when you become a king–”

„If–”

„Don’t interrupt.” She threw him a look, not impressed, and he relented with a sigh of his own. „When you become a king, you’ll need to make important decisions. Decisions for the good of a whole country. And among them... you’ll probably need to forge alliances – and the best way to do that is–”

„Let me stop you right there, darling,” he interrupted her, with a bit too much force in his voice than normally.

She took a shaky breath, not fond of what she wanted to say herself.

Arthur looked straight into her eyes, as serious as he rarely was.

„If I ever become a king–”

„When.”

„If.” This time he threw her a look, but when she stayed silent, he sighed, all the tension leaving his body and muscles relaxing. He raised one of his hands, fingertips brushing along the line of her cheekbone.

„The only one I’d want to marry, would be you... If you’d have me...” his voice softened, warm and liquid like honey, dripping down his lips straight to her heart, making her insides tight and hot.

„Art, are you–” she took a trembling breath, „–are you proposing right now?”

He retraced his hand down to her neck, thumb tracing the line of her jaw. Small smile lifted up the corners of his lips.

„I suppose I am,” he murmured, nose bumping hers affectionately. „Though, to be fair, I’ll need to make an official one too, later. I think. Bedivere would probably need it for something.” His tone was joking, amused, and he was probably right about it, but she paid it half a mind, grin already stretching her mouth. Arthur tightened his grip, drawing her closer, pressing their naked bodies together with a spark in his eyes. „So, what do you say, darling?”

She hummed, coiling her own hand tighter around his shoulders.

„How could I say anything else than yes?” She smiled widely, before pressing a light kiss to his smiling lips. „You sure, though?”

He looked up, brows furrowed, and she had to hold back a laugh.

„Well, you know, I’m sure there are many pretty princesses–”

A gasp broke her sentence, followed by a squeak and a laugh, as Arthur flipped them over in one move.

„Now you didn’t give me a choice, love,” he said, pinning her to the ground.

Their bodies tightly pressed together, warm under the blankets, she felt herself getting hot and tingly. She didn’t even have time to respond anyhow before he sealed their lips together, his body rolling into her and making her moan right into his mouth.

She was sure she’d be sore the next day. But it didn’t matter, really, in that moment nothing did. Nothing, but them. 


	3. Of family and responsibilities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was hard, I'll admit. I know it could be better, but I think I've reached my limit and it's the best of what I could do with those sequences - I'm no text-Guy Ritchie, so that's a given, lol. The next part is almost written, but I'm still deciding how to write the last, so it can take some time, as usual.  
Thank you for all the kudos and comments, they always make my day! Hope you'll enjoy!

As on their first day, when they were going the opposite way following Bill, the road to Londinium stretched long and tedious, even if the landscapes were beautiful to look at. Every one of their little rag tag group felt the effects of riding horseback hour after hour for so long. Already sore and tired, she was thankful when Bedivere ordered a break, a bit further than halfway to their destination, but hid her exhaustion from Blue, yet again sitting with her. He seemed happy enough and it’d be a pity to damper his mood. Helping him down the horse, she patted the animal’s neck and looked around, only to smile under her nose at Wet Stick’s unstable step.

„Are you alright there, mate?” she mused, her smile growing to a smirk when he groaned, almost doubling over.

„I almost forgot how awful that was,” he said back, no bite in his words.

Back Lack, standing at his side, grumpily agreed. Only Blue still looked fresh and happy, scattering off just when they turned away from him.

„Oi! Don’t wander off!” Lack called, following his son, although with a tilted step and painful expression.

She smiled sympathetically, before turning to Stick with a certain pointed look.

„What?” He straightened, furrowing his brows.

„Maybe you’d help out a friend?”

„And you can’t?”

„I’m–” She looked to the side, where Art has broken off from the group and sat at a small current, Excalibur at his side.

Wet Stick followed her gaze and caught on, his shoulders sagging.

„Alright, go on.” He waved a hand at her, already turning away. „I’ll handle Lack and Blue, you handle that.”

She snorted, amused, but it didn’t ease away the slight edge of worry in her heart. Nodding to Wet Stick, she slowly made her way to Arthur, aware that some of the others were watching them, but ignoring it wholly. 

Coming up beside him, she stopped at his right side and lowered herself to the ground. He was already looking her way, his body slightly leaned closer. It always warmed her heart, how attuned he was to her, how attentive. But it was time to turn it around.

„Are you brooding, darling?”

Arthur chuckled, the lines of his face softening. His arms loosely rested on his knees, hands hanging between his legs. He looked every bit relaxed, but she could spot the slight tension in his jaw, in his shoulders, in the sharp line of his brow.

„You know I’m not one for brooding, love. That’s not my style.” 

Their gazes met and she took a second just to look at him, soak it all up.

She hummed, mirroring his pose with her right side, the left open to him, hand supporting her at his side.

„No, it’s definitely not,” she said, smiling. But he caught the look in her eyes, hidden deep down. It must’ve been on his mind for some time.

„But it may end up being part of it, after all.”

All the softness and relaxation drained out of his face, leaving a blank, emotionless expression in its place.

It almost broke her heart then and there.

„Let’s hope it doesn’t, then.”

The quiet, calm air around them, filled with bird chirping and others resting behind them faded somehow, as they naturally, moving like one, shifted closer, their shoulders pressing together, her head resting on his shoulders and his cheek pressed to her hair. Warm and soft. Their hands clasping together, fingers entwined, resting on Art’s leg. She sighed, content, but it still only took few minutes before his shoulders tensed with intent.

„I’m not fond of the idea,” he said, low and soft, but there was strain in his voice too.

Moving slightly so she could look up at him, she raised one brow in a silent question.

„Being a king,” he clarified, a somber, wistful tone in his voice. He squeezed her hand a bit tighter. „I don’t want it.”

He meant it, she could see it in his eyes, but more – she knew it, deep down in her heart that he never wanted such power, such responsibility. He took it in stride, if it meant his close ones were safer, but to lead a whole country? It made her heart tremble and she wouldn’t even be the one to do it.

„I know,” she said softly, her thumb making slow circles on the back of his hand. „It’s terrifying, isn’t it? The power that comes with it... I used to hear all the time that the more you got, the more corrupt you would become. And look at Vortigern.”

„A prime example.”

These days seemed like their thoughts were going the exact same road a lot. It was comforting, even if the topic wasn’t.

„I don’t want to become like him,” he admitted, like it was a burden he carried for weeks.

„You wouldn’t.” That she was sure about, if nothing else.

His brows furrowed, a barely there spark in his eyes.

„And how’d you know it, love?”

Leaning close, she raised her free hand, placed it lightly atop his jacket.

„Because you care, Art." He needed that answer and she was determined to make him see, to ease his doubts. „You already had power, such as it was, but had it because you wanted to protect, not inflict fear or pain. You achieved it, because love guided you. This here,” shifting her hand, she placed it right above his heart, pressing lightly, „this is the most important thing. As long as your heart is in the right place, you won’t get lost. I know it.”

As she talked, Art’s face began to soften, the tension slowly leaving his jaw, his muscles, his shoulders sagging. And as she was done with her little speech, his mouth curved into a delicate smile, his eyes warm and full of tenderness.

„Then it seems I won’t,” he murmured, his hand covering hers, both still pressedabove his heart, „because it’s yours, love. And I know it’s in the best hands possible.”

She couldn’t possibly suppress the smile that stretched her lips then, even if she shook her head at him.

„You’re so foolishly romantic sometimes, I swear,” she mused, entirely too happy with it. And he knew.

„You love it, darling.”

She hummed under her breath.

„Yes. Yes, I do.”

◥✥◤

The kids were free, the slave routes were interrupted, their plan came to fruition. But it was already too dark to go back to the cave, so the rag tag group hid in an abandoned building on the outskirts of Londinium. Not quite as safe as they’d like, but it was better than right under the Blacklegs’ noses. At least they hoped it was.

But Arthur felt restless.

A weird kind of feeling wouldn’t leave him alone, making his skin crawl, and the famous sword by his hip didn’t help – sometimes he thought he could feel it pulse under his fingers right alongside his heartbeat, but that was ridiculous. He didn’t dare use it, yet kept it at his side at all times.

With a heavy kind of sigh he left the main group with Bedivere to take care of shifts and making the place presentable, and instead went deeper inside.

She sat beside a flickering flame of a small lamp, holding her two daggers to the light. They were the same ones she had on herself when he asked her to join them, so long ago.

„You’ve never changed your blades...”

His voice was low and soft, expression thoughtful. Surprise shone in her eyes, as she looked up to him, seemingly woken up from her own musing.

Blinking away the surprise, she smiled, sheathing one of the blades.

„No magic daggers for me, unfortunately,” she said, amusement colouring her tone.

„You’re not missing much, darling, trust me.” He sat beside her, Excalibur in his hand, inactive and yet a ghostly sensation prickling at his skin. „Want to try it out?”

She hesitated, even though nothing wrong could happen, the cursed blade only reacted to him, fortunately or not. But when he drew it out of its sheath, her daggers were put away and she took the handle in a sure grip. Only her face showed what it meant while she inspected the weapon, trying out light moves and twisting her wrists to switch grips. It suited her.

As the blade stilled, a thoughtful hum left her lips.

„I could use a sword like this,” she said finally, drawing out a chuckle from Art.

„Want to switch then, love?

It was her time to snort.

„Like you could use two daggers at the same time.” She smiled up at him, a spark in her eyes, before handing Excalibur back to him. „I’ll leave swords to you. You’re better with them.”

He took it, still too careful for his own liking, but didn’t put it away. The flame’s light danced on the edge, on the patterns and runes. It did look magical then.

„I’m not that good with this one...”

„You will be.”

Looking up, their eyes met, and he knew she had all the confidence in him. But there was no pressure there – just trust and calmness.

He sheathed Excalibur, putting it at his side.

„If these stunts ever end in our favour, I’m gonna give you new daggers. Maybe even magical. What’d you say, darling?”

„I could use new blades.” Her gaze shifted to the old ones for a second. „They’ve seen better days... Hopefully they won’t give out on me before this ends.”

He was tempted to ask _when it’ll end_, but it was cruel even in his mind. _He _didn’t want what would happen next, there was no desire for even more responsibility on his shoulders, and what of the others? He knew they’d follow him anywhere, but was it what they wanted? Arthur had no answers.

„Do you think George’s okay?”

Her soft voice tore him out of his musings, thankfully, but the question itself made his brows furrow.

„Why wouldn’t he be?”

A heavy sigh left her lips.

„Jack’s Eye turned, didn’t he? What if–”

„Hold on, love.” He turned his body to her, catching her unsure gaze. „He wouldn’t gain anything by that and, besides, Blacklegs’ wouldn’t get far anyway. You know George and the lads.”

She smiled then – a tiny, delicate thing – but it was enough for him. George was his friend, he knew the feeling all to well.

„We’ll keep him out of it for as long as we can,” he vowed, not only for her, but for himself, for his friend, the uneasiness coiling around his gut even tighter.

„I know.”

They all worried. But now they had themselves to worry about more – when they’ll need George’s help, and they will, then he’ll worry about it. It was of no use now.

◥✥◤

The restlessness didn’t subside, though. Everything went according to plan and yet Arthur couldn’t shake off the feeling that something wasn’t right. He knew they watched him, all the time, either Goosfat or Bedivere, their eyes glued to his back when they thought he wouldn’t notice. But he did. More so, he had the inkling that the more time he spend with (Y/n), the more love he showed for her (and he had plenty to show), the more attention they paid. It was getting on his nerves – and on top of those overthrowing plans he tried to push out of his mind as much as he could. He really couldn’t take a break.

Hiding his frustrations under a cloak of nonchalance, he strolled through the cave, looking for someone, something, to get his mind off of everything that was happening. Normally, he’d go to Wet Stick or Back Lack, but they’ve seemingly fallen under the earth and she wasn’t anywhere in sight too – most probably outside with Blue. He was already correcting his path to go look there when something finally caught his attention.

Voices echoed from a scarcely used alcove – not hushed, but sounding like they were failing at trying to keep it quiet. Tension coloured them, tinged with frustration that was so close to him these days.

That was something new.

Getting closer, he didn’t much care to be sneaky, but they’ve also seemed too engrossed in their conversation to notice his light steps. But exactly _what _they were discussing – that made white hot fury flare through Arthur’s chest.

„You know that he can’t marry _her_ when he becomes the king!”

It was Bedivere’s voice. That, at least, shouldn’t surprise him.

„But he will and you know it, Bedivere, you saw them. They’re in love.”

Goosfat was defending him? Well, that was new.

„But he won’t be able to forge alliances when already in marriage!”

„There are other ways to forge them...” Calm, quiet voice quipped in.

_Thanks, Percy, appreciate it._

„You know what must be done. We can’t let it happen–”

At this point, Arthur had enough.

All the frustration gone, he felt only the flaring up rage, licking at his inside like flames, his veins burning under his skin.

„Can’t let what happen?” He asked aloud, his voice clear and strong, even if a bit strained with tension.

They’ve almost jumped, whipping to him with wide eyes. Goosfat sat at a table, his fingers twitching and shoulders rigid. Percy was perched beside him, leaned on the rock wall before Arthur went in – now he stood straight, his eyes darting between them. Bedivere stood tall and proud, but his posture was as tense as his expression.

Arthur looked all of them in the eye, back straight, hand at the hilt of Excalibur at his side and calm fury at the tip of his tongue, before stopping his gaze on Bedivere.

„Well? You have something to tell me?”

If his skin wasn’t so dark, Art could swear he saw the proud man blush.

Bedivere exchanged a look with Goosfat, who seemed already too tired for anything, before his gaze went back to Arthur.

„No,” he said, voice strained under the false calmness. „It was just... a chat.”

„Oh, but it wasn’t, was it?” Arthur’s voice dropped, his tone tinted with sarcasm.

None of them moved much, but the air shifted clearly, tense and buzzing as if a storm was coming over. Bedivere looked almost nervous.

„Let _me_ tell _you_ something.” Arthur continued, stepping deeper in. „And better listen closely, because I won’t repeat myself.”

He made two deliberate steps closer to Bedivere, his eyes fixed on him.

„You keep away from my personal life. My relationships are _none_ of your business. If you ever as much as try meddling in, I’m gone.” Arthur saw Bedivere’s jaw lock and it flared up his chest even more, voice hardening. „I won’t participate in your masquerade any longer. I marry whoever I want and you have nothing to say in this. Are we clear?”

While he talked, he threw a look at the other two. Goosfat’s face didn’t show much, but he seemed resigned and almost embarrassed. Percy looked like he didn’t want to be there in the first place, but he was the only one that clearly understood him, so he got a pass. But Bedivere... Arthur locked his gaze on him and didn’t waver as he finished his little speech. The man either understood or that was where it ended.

Bedivere struggled a few seconds more, clearly not happy with the idea, but finally Arthur saw his shoulders sag and the determination leave his eyes. He nodded, stepping back.

„As clear as the sun.”

Arthur was almost tempted to throw some stronger words at them, but he reined in his still simmering rage – he could use it some time later. Nodding, he made to turn around and go off searching for (Y/n), the one and only that could calm him, when an idea struck him and he stopped, half turned.

„Percy.” He looked at the surprised man and almost smiled. „Want to spar? I could use some... practice.”

Percy straightened, surprise blending into consideration and wariness – clearly he knew the calmness was only a facade – before nodding. Without a look at Bedivere or Goosfat.

Now, this one looked promising.

„Well then, come on. We don’t have all day. Oh, and, ” he turned to Bedivere one last time, „not a word about that to (Y/n). Not. Even. One.”

Only then he walked out without looking behind him, but the silence and soft footsteps told him all he needed to know. Good lad, that Percy, he was beginning to like him.

◥✥◤

Just when they were about to run out of new ideas to aggravate Vortigern, all the plans shifted. A noble woman showed up in their cave, Maggie – Bedivere called her – and their hopes seemingly came to fruition. They had a chance, an opening. But (Y/n) didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one bit.

A new agitation came over the whole Resistance. The air buzzed, excitement and energy filled everyone – well, almost everyone.

Arthur was outside in the fresh evening air when she found him. Excalibur held in one hand and laid out on the other, almost as if he wanted to lay it down on some invisible table, his gaze firmly fixed on the blade.

It almost felt like she was intruding on something personal, intimate even. But, for all she knew, it may have been just that – she supposed everything was possible with the power and magic Excalibur had.

She tried to be as quiet and sneaky as possible, but he heard her nonetheless.

„Sorry,” she said lightly, as Arthur turned around, blade lowering, „didn’t want to interrupt–”

„And you didn’t, love,” he assured her with a smile, although unsure and fragile one. „Come here...”

His arm outstretched to her, a clear invitation, and she stepped into the embrace with a delicate smile of her own. Sneaking her arms around his middle, she lowered her head to rest on his shoulder. Arthur returned the hug, although with one hand still holding the sword. Strange, how it seemed to have it’s own presence, as if it was giving off an energy no one could resist. And she tried, but even her gaze turned to the blade.

„You’ve been practising,” she guessed, her voice carrying a lilt of question.

„You meant I _tried_ practising? Yeah, sure did.”

He aimed at humorous, but she heard the bitterness in his tone. And when she looked up, he seemed almost tired – deep lines bruising his face and shadows laying under his dimmed eyes. It was terrifying.

Feeling her heart coming up to her throat, she squeezed her arms tighter around him, lips leaving a feather light kiss on his collarbone.

„You’ll find a way, as you always do.”

„Yeah, and what if I won’t?”

Their eyes met and the worry in his gaze almost made her crumble under it. But she kept it together, for him, for them, because now he needed her. Drawing one of her hands up to his chest, she pressed it in the centre.

„Then we’ll find another way,” she said, voice calm and sure, full of conviction. „But you’re going to figure it out, I know it. Besides,” a mischievous smile curved her lips, „I still remember how you couldn’t figure out how to climb walls and _I _tried to teach you_._”

Arthur chuckled, the memory making his face softer and clearing some shadows from his eyes and face.

„For my defence, I was heavier and a lot less agile than you.”

„And you’re not now?” she joked, poking him in the ribs, making his smile grow winder.

„Well, heavier, yes, but I’d venture to say I have some agility in me now.” His nose brushed with hers affectionately. „You’ve been a great teacher, after all, weren’t you, love?”

„I definitely hope so,” she mused, feeling the dread and worry all but gone to the back of her mind, in it’s place lightness, bright and relieving. „Wonder what you’d do without me, darling.”

„Die in a dead alley, for sure.”

A sharp, surprised laugh broke out through her lips, shaking her form. And it was so refreshing, so unexpected, she turned into a mess of giggles, Arthur joining in with her as soon as he felt her merriness reverberating through his body. A childlike, unapologetic joy overtook them for quite a few moments, until their breaths grew heavy and their laugh softly quieted down, a happy, warm feeling left behind.

Arthur tried to lift up his other arm into the embrace, but stopped as soon as he moved, realizing he still held Excalibur. Looking down on the blade, a sigh left his lips. He rose it up, tip to the sky, metal glinting in the sunshine.

„You sure you don’t want to switch blades?” he murmured, but, thankfully, without bitterness or worry, just the shadow of their previous talk.

Curiously, she lifted the hand that lied on his chest and with the tips of her fingers brushed the fuller in the middle. She felt nothing special, just the coolness of metal, yet still Excalibur’s presence was undeniable. But before she could utter even a word, they heard steps coming closer and, turning to the intruder, Wet Stick’s apologetic face showed up. He seemed as tired and unhappy with recent events as any of their gang – unlike the Resistance.

„Sorry, boss, (Y/n). They want you down there.” He gestured behind him, to the cave’s entrance.

Arthur sighed, but nodded to his friend.

„We’ll be there.”

Wet Stick nodded back, threw them one more look and then turned around, quickly leaving their sight.

Just then she felt all the dread coming back to her shoulders, weighing her down. Resistance’s plans filled her mind again as Arthur lowered the Excalibur.

„I have a bad feeling about this,” she murmured, her gaze still on the place Wet Stick disappeared to.

Arthur’s lips brushed her forehead in a light kiss, his breath a bit heavier than normal.

„I know. I sorta hoped he won’t ever leave the castle,” he said, slowly stirring them both to follow in their friend’s path, but didn’t lower the arm that hugged her side to him.

Vortigern could stay there and rot, for all she cared, but destiny, as it seemed, didn’t leave them a choice.

◥✥◤

Chaos.

Pure, uncotrolable chaos.

And just as they thought it was going well – ironic, isn’t it?

She felt Lack and Stick’s suspicion just as keenly when the king arrived. Something wasn’t right.

„Why would he stand like that?” she murmured to herself, but both of them shifted, exchanging glances just as the air changed.

„Exactly my thoughts,” Wet Stick said back, while Lack turned and gave the „no” signal.

And that was the moment when something cold and heavy fell upon her shoulders. Dread. Horrible, boneaching dread. A bad feeling.

„Mates, maybe we should–” She hadn’t had the chance to finish.

An arrow flew past them, pierced the guard’s chest and full blown chaos erupted everywhere around.

„Shit!”

„C’mon, we need to get out!”

Back Lack and Wet Stick’s voices almost blended with the crowd’s panic, while two more arrows flew through the air.

_Bloody hell, Goosfat!_

They moved with the crowd, keeping together, branching off just when they met with Rubio and Percy, their faces looking like they just found out their swords were made of wood. All of them looked sour, for sure, but she couldn’t shake off the horrible, nasty feeling squeezing her insides as they waited for Art at the back of the building.

It wasn’t long before they emerged. Arthur sauntering out, nonchalant and lazy, Bedivere and Goosfat following, all of them with seemingly no idea what was happening around them, like it was just a normal day, but when she met her love’s eyes, they said everything.

She liked to think that she was above it, but she really couldn’t help that one nasty glance she threw Bill’s way. It was his fault and yet he looked like it was nothing.

„C’mon, love...”

She heard Art’s voice in her ear, one of his arms already laying on her shoulders, so she swallowed down that nasty feeling, letting him steer her the right way. But their way out wasn’t as easy as it should be.

First there were Blacklegs, then they had to run, and before she could even register it, Back Lack was nowhere in sight, Rubio was wounded and they could barely catch their breaths. She was always at Arthur’s side, daggers in hands, but if she had even a second to think about their situation, she’d may crumble.

The way was familiar, but didn’t bring any relief – she could only hope that George somehow knew or at least had an inkling, and that the Mage staying behind was a good decision. They could use some help.

It was close, so close to the old bathhouse.

„Rubio!”

They saw him charge at the Blacklegs – and falling, pierced with their blades. Her heart went up to her throat, but they had to move, there was no time. Before she could even think about it, they were already on the other side of the road, boys were helping Percy up and the rest of them jumped to the ground. George met them, all the boys were there – and Mage too. But they were surrounded. Blacklegs swarmed all the entrances, even came up on the roof with bows and arrows – a flock of ravens flew up, cowering them, Mage’s eyes almost all black.

She heard more than saw Arthur opening up the well and trying to talk the man to go down there. Exchanging looks with Wet Stick they both already knew what the outcome would be.

In a last resort, Art turned to them, his eyes first searching for Wet Stick, then landing on her. But she had her blades already out, stance ready, and a light smile curved her lips up.

„You know we’re not leaving you.”

A sigh broke out on Arthur’s lips, but he wasn’t surprised, no. He clenched his jaw, his muscles tense and twitching, before he turned back, shaking off the fur, growling under his breath. He drew Excalibur out, the blade glinting, and just as sun slid down its length, (y/n) stepped closer to the Mage – her eyes still black and form unresponsive.

The doors gave up with a creak so loud it almost made them wince. George and his men moved as in position. Then the Blacklegs swarmed in, yelling, swords and shields glinting black in the sunlight. A cacophony of sound filled the air, metal clashing, flesh slashed, yells, growls and shouts mixing in with the crows cawing.

When few of them immediately charged her and Mage’s way, she had no time to think. Letting her instinct and muscle memory kick in, she evaded the first attacker and slashed at the other, blood splashing on her arm. Not letting the Mage’s form leave the corner of her sight, she danced between the attackers, blades switching in her grip. For a few seconds, it went well – two of them were already on the ground – but then something shifted in the air. Momentarily distracted, she felt a blade slashing at her side. With a surprised shout she stepped back, only to feel someone kick her leg from behind and forcing her to her knees. Before she could roll and stand up, in the corner of her vision the Mage showed up – with a knife on her neck, held by a Blackleg. Her heart stoped for half a beat–

And then the _real_ chaos ensued.

A Blackleg bringing his sword down on her shoulder was thrown back, dust flew up in the air like a fog, in lighting speed, air got charged as if before storm and in the millisecond it took for her to blink, the strongest of winds kicked up.

She saw a vortex once in her life, but never a tornado. Now she felt like she was in the midst of one.

An unbelievable rumble overcame her hearing, cracked by sounds too similar to thunder and yet wholly metal like; orange dust completely cowered up her vision, only slashed by blue lightning-like bursts of light and black smudges of bodies flying, but all of it, even though happening so close, engulfing her wholly, kept her in place like some invisible ropes. Pushed on her from all directions, not letting her get swept away with one of the powerful strokes of wind or fall to the ground.

At first, with eyelids pinched almost close, she tried to see something more, but soon she was forced to cover her eyes and just wait till it ended.

It may have lasted minutes, but for her it felt like seconds, or even less. When the dust settled and the air cleared, quiet and calm, she could finally raise her gaze.

Blacklegs’ bodies covered the ground, broken shields and swords littered the space around and orange dust still flickered in the sun. Arthur stood in the middle, his heavy, ragged breath the only thing filling the quiet and the Mage – seeming untouched – had a thoughtful look on her face.

(Y/n) raised to her feet slowly, the wound on her side stinging and seeping blood lightly, but she almost didn’t feel it. Her eyes glued to Art’s form, she slowly wiped and sheathed her blades. He blinked, as if waking up from a trance, and turned to her, a question in his eyes. She only nodded, waiting for him to turn around before reaching for a clean cloth from inside a small pouch on her hip. Covering the wound with it, she followed in Art’s steps.

„I’m going down the well now,” his tired, out of breath voice ringed in the air, breaking all of the others out of their amazed, stunned stillness.

She sighed, catching Wet Stick’s gaze. Before she could utter a word, he reached for a dagger and cut a long strip of cloth from his shirt, all of it while stepping closer to her.

„Here,” he said, when he stopped beside her. „Try to not stretch this side.” He tied it neatly around her middle, over her own made up covering, to keep it in place.

„Thanks, Wetty,” she murmured, giving him a small smile.

He just patted her arm and turned to the others, waving at her to follow. But when she looked up, her eyes met with Arthur’s – his brows creased, eyes hard, trained on her wound. She sighed under her breath, but went after Wet Stick, not letting her gaze leave Art’s.

„Don’t worry,” she said, stoping beside him. Reaching a hand to his check, she raised up on her toes to brush a light kiss on his other cheek. „It’s just a flesh wound.”

He looked down on the covering and heaved a sigh of his own.

„It better be,” he murmured, before gesturing to the well with his head. „We’ll clean you up at the hide out.”

She smiled, lowering her hand and leaving a light pat on his chest.

„As you say.”

Going down the well, she tried not to think about Back Lack and his whereabouts. They all lived through the Blacklegs’ swarm – she could only hope he had it easier.

◥✥◤

A scream tore through the air.

Terrifying, gut wrenching scream that flew from the old bathhouse to their boat, carrying all the pain, loss and heartbreak no child should’ve ever experienced. It tore at her heart like a dagger cutting her open.

„Blue...”

They saw them, Art running for their life with the small boy in his arms – kicking and screaming, crying his pain into the night. Arthur’s own shouts almost drowned in his hurt, hurrying them into leaving, his own face contorted and scrunched up.

She felt tears rolling down her cheeks even before they reached them, Blue sat right beside her, pulled into an embrace tighter than ever, his face hiding in her neck and his sobs breaking out through his small body, raking both of their forms. Arthur’s eyes met with hers while the boats floated down the river, and there was nothing they needed to say or do. He sat at Blue’s other side, drawing both of them in, Wet Stick sitting just in front of them, face in both hands. All the others fell silent.

Back Lack wasn’t coming back. 


	4. Of loss and battles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the final part!  
I'd like to say there's still plan for another, separate one for the series to close it off, but seeing as I have no idea when/if I'll be able to write it, for now - this is it. 
> 
> Warnings: some mentions of blood and small injury at the end, but it's not much, just the general final battle description from reader's pov.
> 
> Hope y'all are staying well, safe and enjoyed the ride! All the love to everyone who made it so far ❤  
And, of course, enjoy this last part!

Blue fell asleep as soon as he’d laid his head on the pillow, the sorrow and exhaustion crippling all of them, but the young boy the most.

It shouldn’t have been this way. Back Lack should’ve been with them, unharmed, they should have a clear escape – or at least an easier one. It was a ruse, they knew, saw it, and he still...

Fury flared up her veins, blood boiling in the wake of all the pain and hurt, her fists clenching. She didn’t even stop to think about it. Leaving Blue on their bed, she shut tight her jaw and marched through the corridor, her vision blurring on the edges. It was almost too easy to find them.

Scattered around the room, Goosfat standing at a table with back hunched, as if deep in thought.

„You!” the word left in a seething whisper before she could stop it, all eyes turning to her.

She was barely aware of Wet Stick straightening somewhere to her right, of Arthur walking in right after, his posture tense – her eyes only seeing _him. _Standing at the table, turning to her, shoulders slouched, gaze glinting with–

It took her three strides, not even two seconds, and her right arm drawing back.

A sickening crunch broke through the air, followed by a grunt and gasps in the back.

„It’s your fault!” The choked back scream tore itself out of her chest, painful, sharp, like million daggers piercing her chest and slicing up her neck.

Tears were streaming down her face, blurring her vision and yet she saw him, his face, as clear as the day. Hunched over, holding his bleeding nose.

Behind her, Wet Stick jumped up to his feet, but Arthur stopped him with a hand reached out – he watched, jaw clenched, eyes dark.

„All of it wouldn’t happen if it weren’t for you!” She pointed an accusing finger at Bill, holding back another punch that was building inside her, tensing in her shoulders.

He casted down his gaze.

„I didn’t think–”

„Of course you DIDN’T think!” Throwing her hands up, stepping closer, she felt as if she was to burst at any moment.

Only then Arthur stepped in, stopping at her side, but not moving any closer. A rock like presence beside her, one that hurt inside as much as her or even more, but wouldn’t show it off. She clenched her fists, shoulders tense, and seethed.

„Congrats, you just got your revenge,” she hissed through clenched teeth. „Hope it tasted good.”

Fuming, she turned on her heel, vision tunnelled only on the corridor leading to their alcove, hazy around the edges. When she heard it-

„It did-”

All of them froze.

„-but it wasn’t worth it...”

For a second only her ragged, heavy breaths were heard in the quiet.

„You’re damn right it wasn’t,” Arthur sharp, calm, hard as steel voice cut through the air and she felt as all the rage and fury leaving her, just like that, deflating, and a sadness like no other overtaking, so cold and overwhelming it shook her whole body.

Almost breaking up right there and then, she was just able to pace few corridors down the caves before a sob tore itself through her throat and she almost collapsed against a wall. And Arthur was there just a second later, catching and holding her up, strong, sure and warm. But when they embraced, tight and desperate, holding onto each other as if their lives depended on it, there were tears not her own coming down her face. He didn’t weep, didn’t sob, unmoving and rock still, quiet in the wake of their despair, such contrast to her blatant crying. She was reminded of the boy laying in their bed, alone, lost, and she knew they both needed to be strong. For him.

Forcing down the sobs, she tried to calm down, even out her breaths, get a hold on herself. She couldn’t remember when was the last time she cried so much. That was only once till this day, when her family was lost. And now she lost a member of another.

„I’m sorry...” she murmured, finally calmed down a little.

„For what?” he sounded surprised, leaning away to look her in the eye.

„I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

His fingers cupped her chin, with just the tips directing her to look up – and she did. In his eyes she found only love and loss, glazed over with fresh pain.

„No one blames you, love. If you didn’t, I might. And between us it better be you.” He cracked the tiniest of smiles, making her own lips quiver in the corners.

Brushing her cheek with his cold fingers, Arthur leaned down to leave a warm, feather light kiss on her forehead.

„C’mon, we should get to bed.”

She didn’t answer, but let him steer her the right way.

When she woke up, Arthur wasn’t there.

No familiar warmth at her back, no arms around her middle, only the furs and Blue still sleeping soundly, his face pale and body unmoving.

A painful dread settled itself on her shoulders, crawled inside her gut, grabbing at her heart – a terrifying, bad feeling. Something was clearly not right and Arthur’s absence didn’t bode well – who knew what he did, where did he go in the night while they slept. But she couldn’t leave Blue also, what if he woke up, alone and...

„Go,” a soft voice spoke, barely above whisper, and she looked up sharply to find the Mage in the entrance.

She had no idea the woman could speak so softly.

Sparing one last glance at the boy, she nodded to the Mage with thanks and quietly scrambled to her feet, only taking what was strictly necessary. When she was about to pass the Mage, she informed her about the others going out to find Arthur with a quiet whisper – and some of the dread fell off her shoulders. So she nodded and hurried ahead to find them already at the cave’s entrance, horse’s in ready.

„Told you,” Wet Stick’s voice broke the silence after the rest seemed surprised, though they shouldn’t be, really, and brought her a spare horse.

She mustered a small smile in thanks, before hopping on the saddle, mind already set on Arthur.

„Do you know where he could be?” Bedivere’s voice cut through the air as they hastily followed after her.

„I have an inkling.”

She didn’t turn around, didn’t spare them a glance, her heart already up her throat, beating furiously. Wet Stick caught up to her, George right after him, and they exchanged brief glances, but they needn’t any words.

It still took some time before they’ve found him. And it almost made her jump out of the saddle the moment she heard it.

A guttural, furious scream.

Like a wounded, dying animal.

Pain, sorrow and helplessness filling it in a way it seemed impossible to encompass, yet surely it filled Arthur’s heart just as much.

Rushing her horse in its direction, his hunched form came into view behind a small slope – on his knees, the sword in hand, but almost falling out, laid on the ground, his clothes and face all covered in mud. Her heart squeezing painfully in her chest, she jumped off the horse, leaving it to the others that began to stop behind her.

With a slow, calm steps she came up to Art’s side, stopping just shy of the puddle he sat in.

His head was hung down, shoulders slouched, hanging, breath heavy and ragged, like he’d just run a few miles. So she crouched down beside him, the mud getting all over her boots, but she didn’t care, and her hand slipped around his fingers – and Excalibur’s hilt, keeping them in a sure, warm hold.

Arthur turned his gaze first to their hands, his own fingers tightening, shifting under hers, and then lifted it up to her eyes, the blue full of so many emotions she couldn’t really hope to decipher them.

„You almost scared me there,” she murmured, her lips twitching upward in a delicate smile.

A deep, heavy sigh left his throat, his face relaxing just that bit more, eyes softening against her gaze.

„Sorry, didn’t mean to,” he murmured back, voice hoarse, but soft, warm.

She reached out, her fingertips brushing over his mud covered beard and cheek, cold under her skin. He huffed quietly.

„And what’re you doin’ now, love, getting dirty over me.”

Her lips curved a bit higher.

„I don’t mind getting a little dirty _with_ you, darling.”

He chuckled quietly, small smile lifting up his lips for a short moment.

„Only a little?” He quirked his brow and her mouth stretched in a smile, genuine, relieved.

Without answering, she stood up, helping Arthur up alongside herself.

„Come now, we need to get you cleaned up.”

﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥

The bodies, God, all the bodies. The sight haunted her, burnt under her eyelids, even when they stood outside, rage vibrating in the air.

And they had Blue with them. Hostage.

„We need the Mage.” Arthur’s voice cut through the air, tension straining in the low tone.

She turned, her brow raising a bit. Their eyes met and she exhaled slowly – he knew something. Something that must have happened earlier. So she came up closer, attention shifting.

„And how will we get her from Vortigern?” Bedivere’s voice was unsure, but she heard his interest.

A lot have changed in those past weeks, it seemed, they’ve already seen Arthur’s swift planning in motion – he rarely made wrong decisions – and now listened to what he had to say.

Arthur sighed, turning slightly away, shoulders relaxed only at first sight, clearly already coming up with plans and ways it could go. She had no idea if there was any that could work, seeing how ruthless and power hungry was Vortigern, but Art has always surprised them, even after years spent together.

„We’ll send the sword,” he said, turning back to them. „Excalibur in exchange for the Mage. Vortigern won’t be able to use it anyway and I won’t be a threat later.”

„But that’s exactly what Vortigern wants!” Bedivere intervened, voice raised and hands gesturing sharply. „You’ll be defenseless!”

„That’s where the Mage will step in.”

„And how does that-”

„I _don’t _know!” Arthur stepped closer, his face strained and bruised with responsibility he never really wanted. „But we need her or nothing will work.”

The certainty of his words, despite the slight quivering at the end, send a cold shiver down her spine. There was the hint of _something_ there, again. Whatever happened before they found him this morning, it changed the whole situation. And as much as it unnerved her, she’d go after him, always.

The rest fell silent, all mulling over his words. Grave kind of understanding surrounded them, weighted down with what already happened and what hovered just above the horizon. There were holes, big holes, chances that it would all go to shit. It made her skin crawl and pulse quicken, but she trusted him.

„So who will go with the sword?” She arched a brow.

„I will,” Bedivere came a step ahead, shoulders set.

Arthur looked at him, serious and calculating, before nodding. Then he turned to George.

„You know what to do, we’ll still need more men.”

George nodded, straightening with purpose set in the look of his eyes. There were lots of men ready at Londinium, lots of people that had enough of Vortigern’s cruel rule and were ready to do anything to free themselves.

And as Arthur smoothed over the plan, the feeling of inevitable that permeated the air like ozone before the storm settled on their shoulders, sizzling and slipping into the bones with a nervous kind of energy. It would all decide itself in days, hours maybe. And it was terrifying.

„We need a place close enough to set from there,” Arthur said at last, strapping what was needed to his steed. „But not so much that they’d be able to reach us before we strike.”

„I’ll lead,” Bedivere offered and hopped on his stallion, already steering it alongside the dirt road.

„Alright then,” Arthur murmured under his breath, before gesturing the rest to follow behind the Resistance leader.

She stayed behind, only mounting her steed as Arthur did, patting the dark neck of the horse as it neighed. Clearly she wasn’t hiding her own emotions as well as she hoped.

„We’ll make it, love,” he said, low, soft, his horse in a slow pace beside hers, as close as they possible could.

She released a quiet breath, squeezing the reins in her hand, the other one placed at her thigh, fingers twitching to stay relaxed.

„I know,” her voice matched Arthur’s and as she looked up to met his gaze – she could only hope they still had one more miracle up their sleeves.

Arthur’s lips curved, a silent sigh raising his chest, before he outstretched his hand to her. Blinking, with brow quirked up, she lifted hers from her thigh and placed it in his big, warm one. And of course he knew what he was doing, the simple link easing at least just a bit the coiled tension in her chest.

„When this ends, we are getting married, love,” he vowed, able to lift their joined hands up to his face, with how close they rode, and brush a kiss to her knuckles. „And that’s a promise.”

Something warm and fuzzy engulfed her chest, burning behind her eyelids, on her cheeks, coiling around too rushed of a heartbeat – but it stretched a smile over her lips just as he squeezed her hands one last time.

„I’ll hold you to it, then,” she could only choke out, holding onto the saddle.

„You better, darling.” He winked at her, released her grip and his lips curved into a sight that’s so familiar it burns.

The wait was nerve-wracking. Since Bedivere disappeared with Excalibur, they’ve been holed up in tents on the edge of the forest, trying to get their minds off what waited ahead.

The sight around was beautiful, yes, rolling hills and mountains, a clearing with small torrent rushing right through it, green and white and blue meeting at the horizon. She’d never seen a sunrise quite like this one, but it still did nothing to ease their nerves.

George already left to gather the lads and rally the people, splitting up with Bedivere close to Londinium, so there was only the four of them. Goosfat, Wet Stick, Arthur and her. Tension was so palpable in the cool air that they rarely mingled, every and each one of them trapped inside their own minds.

Through the night they almost didn’t sleep. With two small tents close to each other, changing on the guard duty, it was hard to relax enough to drift off. So it was no wonder that when Arthur’s watch came up, she stirred awake from the light sleep just as Wet Stick shook him awake.

“Sorry, your turn, boss.”

“Thanks, mate.”

Wet Stick disappeared behind the claps as Art’s chest raised with a quiet sigh. Curling closer to his side, arm draped over his abdomen, she hoped beyond hope that maybe if she didn’t think about it, it wouldn’t be real. Which, of course, didn’t work.

“Love?” Deft fingers brushed the hair out of her face, before his lips left a feather light kiss on her forehead.

So gathering all the will that really wasn’t there, she stretched and straightened, raising up from the makeshift bed. Even in the darkness the furrow of his brow was clear.

“You’re after me, darling.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Reaching for the fur jacket, she slowly draped it over her shoulders. “There’s no way I’m falling asleep again.” With a force of habit, she leaned back to steal a quick kiss. “C’mon.”

A heavy breath left Arthur’s lips, but he took her offered hand and stood up, getting his own jacket on. As they walked out, the air prickled at their skin, cool and crispy, almost as if a layer of frost came down upon the valley.

Arthur looked up at the sky, his brow furrowing, before he shook his head with a light smile.

“The bastard.” She turned back, raising a brow. “He woke us up too late.” A tinge of humour coloured his voice and she couldn’t quite keep a smile off her face too.

“Well, then I need to thank him,” she murmured, giving Art a wink, before an idea crossed her mind.

Reaching back to the tent, she grabbed at the thick blanket they’ve slept under and took it out. The sky was already seeming to grey at the horizon, the stars slowly fading out.

“There was a nice rock near the torrent, wasn’t it?” she said in the way of explaining, the blanket tucked under her arm, and Arthur’s lips stretched in a smile as he linked their fingers together to tug her with him.

“Sure was, love.”

Fortunately, it was close enough so they had a good look on their camp and the horizon, hidden behind the mountains and hills, already gaining a rich colour. Spreading the blanket – folded few times over so it’d be thick enough to protect from the cold – they’ve sat together on the stone, her side already hugged into Arthur’s, head in the crook of his neck and his arms tightly hugged around her middle. His deep breath brushed through the strands of her hair, warm and puffing in the cool air, everything around so quiet, so calm, it almost seemed out of this world.

“Aside from all that’s happening, it’s real nice up here,” he murmured, voice deep, a little hoarse still from the sleep, and she hummed in agreement.

With the sky lightning, a rosy golden streaks colouring the edges of the mountains, it was easy to forget what took them here, what they were waiting for, how it all was just a string of miracles that were hard to believe in.

“I dreamed about this as a little girl, you know,” she started, low and soft, mind going back a memory lane she almost forgot about, stories heard at her bedside.

“Cuddling up with me and watching a sunrise, love?” was the cheeky replay, grin plain clear in his voice.

Nudging him playful in the ribs with her elbow, she could feel the same smile stretching her lips.

“Sure, darling, that too,” she rolled her eyes, settling more comfortably into Art’s side, “but no. I mean the whole affair, you know. I would run around home with sticks as daggers and imagine myself on an adventure.” Arthur’s arms coiled a little tighter around her, lips brushing her hair. A sigh lifted her chest. “But it was what is was, just a play. And now we’re living it. _Really _living it. A cruel king, magic, battles, all included...” her voice lowered down to a whisper, an unexpected shiver racking her spine. “I could’ve never imagined it.”

Arthur curled around her just a tad bit more, his beard tickling at her cheek as he nuzzled into her neck, bringing them as close as it was possible.

It was so close now. Just hours away, a conclusion to the mess that could have never been predicted. It’s quite terrifying, the end being so near, and yet, here, in the clearing, with the sun barely peeking around the edges of the mountains, it seemed far away, like the stories she’s heard all those years ago.

“I know, love,” he murmured, finally, cheek resting on her brow. “It’s not what I’d have wanted for us.”

The words struck something deep inside her, fluttering and unsteady, nature of which wasn’t really clear, but nagging, aching.

Turning slowly in Art’s embrace, she was able to straighten and look up, meet the shadowed gaze that seemed too distant for her liking. She cupped his cheek, fingertips brushing through the light beard, his eyes almost slipping closed.

“I don’t mind it.” And she meant it, really did. Fear squeezed her insides, but– “I’d rather be here and get through all of this mess with you than be anywhere else.”

The corners of his lips quirked upward, curled into a smile that’s barely visible, as his nose brushed with hers playfully.

“Awfully romantic, aren’t you, love?” he said, amusement mingled with something much deeper and quivering, before he leaned down, lips brushing her own.

With a long exhale she settled into the kiss, shifting closer, slow and lazy, stretched out so much it’d might have lasted for minutes, hours, warming up from inside-out, tingling at the nerves’ edges, sizzling with a low burning flame inside. It could never end and she’d be wholly happy with it.

Bedivere and the Mage showed up as the sun neared noon, high in the sky, reflecting in the torrent’s uneasy water. It looked like hope, the sight of them, but as the Mage came up with a plan, that vision quickly became clouded. Not saying a word, she watched the woman as she mixed herbs and muttered words, the possible outcomes playing shakily before her eyes. This couldn’t possibly work.

„I don’t like this plan,” she said to Arthur, as he was already turning to the Mage.

A heavy sigh lifted his shoulders, a kind of resigned purpose in the line of his shoulders.

„I know.” He drew her in for a short hug, arms strong and steady. „But I trust her. She knows what she’s doing. It’s going to work, love. It’ll be over soon.”

With a long breath of her own, she nodded and pressed a light kiss just above his heart. For good luck.

But she couldn’t really watch, even from afar, as Arthur clasped hands with the Mage. It would only serve to fire up the uneasiness already settled in her chest, robbing her of breath. Distracted, or trying to distract herself, she joined the others readying their horses to check if Arthur’s had everything on it right. The gray steed neighed at her and that, somehow, made the tightness in her shoulders release just a bit.

„You’re going to deliver him safely...” she murmured to the horse, petting his lowered head, not even sure if she was asking, pleading or maybe trying to magic the Fate for another miracle.

The big, black eyes looked at her as if thinking her silly, which – fair. Chuckling lightly to herself, she patted the horse’s neck. At least she could always rely on the animals to brighten her mood.

Wet Stick joined her side then, body and gaze turned where she knew they were probably finishing. With tongue clogging up her throat, she exchanged one brief glance with her friend, both of them filled with uneasy anticipation. When she finally looked ahead, to the valley, Arthur was slowly making his way towards them, step just slightly off and eyes unfocused, the Mage walking just a few paces behind. Taking the leather-fur coat in her hand, she tried not to think of the future, of magic and miracles.

„You sure you’re gonna’ be alright there, boss?” Wet Stick’s good-natured jab was almost lost through the tense voice.

„I think I’ll manage.” Art sounded almost unchanged, if not for the slight faraway quality.

Turning back to him, the thick material heavy in her hands, she found him already looking down, eyes strangely focused and bleary at the same time. As he reached out to her cheek, a genuine smile stretched his lips, tender and private, licking small flames up her neck.

„You’re beautiful, y’know?”

The light murmur almost made her chuckle with incredulity. What was he thinking? Her head shook slightly.

„Trust you to be romantic when it’s not the time,” she said, but couldn’t stop the smile. His even widened.

„Love, this is the best time.” And with the words on his lips, he leaned in and kissed her with the strangest mix of passion, reverence and tenderness.

Any other time, she’d be happy to continue it anywhere near without looking eyes, but as it was, Arthur broke off the kiss and left her completely breathless. Without even a smallest cheeky line. _What-_

But before she could ponder on the thought, he straightened, looked to Wet Stick – who had a cheeky smile on his face, the bastard – then back to her, and took a deep breath.

„Keep each other safe, you two.”

„Sure, mate.” Wet Stick’s face softened, meeting with Art’s gaze.

Bedivere came closer then, shoulders squared.

„It’s time.”

Arthur nodded, once, his eyes losing focus again as if seeing something else, but as she spread the coat with a slight incline of her head, he turned and let her drape it over his shoulders. Such a simple gesture, yet as she was retracing her hands, smoothing down the fabric, it felt infinitely intimate, softening something cold and heavy in her stomach.

He turned to them one more time, gaze locking on each one for a second, before settling on Wet Stick, as they clasped hands, and then on her with one, last, small smile.

As she watched his figure disappear between trees, sitting straight in the saddle, her heart thundered in her chest with almost ribs-bruising strength, but there was no sense of dread – worry, yes, heavy and pulsing, yet she found she trusted. In him. The Mage. The ridiculous plan. One more miracle.

As if sensing her thoughts, the Mage appeared at her side.

„It’ll pass before the time’s up,” her usually strained voice this time sound surprisingly soft.

With some new resolve, she nodded.

„I know.”

The Mage stirred, glancing at her with raised brow. So she turned to the woman to meet her gaze.

„I trust you.” It rang clear and true, even to her own ears. And seeing the almost shocked surprise, she shrugged, then thought about– „Also, I haven’t had _the_ awful bad feeling I always get, so that must mean something.” She tried ending on a jest, but the sharp look she received almost made her stutter.

From all of the people, it was Goosfat that came to her rescue. Time was up.

They had additional hours to their journey through the Londinium, to meet up with George, then they had to free the workers, and all on the exact sign from the Mage, who would split up with them halfway. If everything worked out. But as she mounted her steed, as she was riding beside Wet Stick, worry and adrenaline raising up, she cut out all the dark thoughts – they wouldn’t help. And now they needed _all the help_ they could get.

﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥

Strange how she welcomed the chaos now.

Wet Stick at her side, the Resistence and freed workers swarming around them, into the castle grounds, Blacklegs spilling out to meet them in the middle, and all the while her heart thudded heavily into her ribs, pumping adrenaline-filled blood that pushed and pushed her further, relentless and unyielding. Her blades slashed through anyone that came too close, spraying crimson all over, and even though her breath run ragged, the clear, sharp focus propelled her ever forward. Because there, at the end, Arthur was fighting his own fight, more important than anything happening around them.

Someone turned over the heavy vase, spraying hot coals and flames all over, but another, bright and flashing like a thunder burst of light above cleared the night for a short second. Her body turned without even a thought, the tower-top bursting with flames that danced and flashed as if in a dance. She couldn’t know, didn’t have any power or knowledge to know, and yet deep down it seemed all too clear that these fires showed her the fight of Art’s life. Wet Stick shouted her name, tugging her forward, and so she turned, following, yet somehow the beats of the flames pulsed in her veins, guiding her blades.

An arrow whizzed past her shoulder, sinking into Blackleg’s neck, and she spun around him to stab another one with barely a breath. But as she slashed her way through, adrenaline still somehow flowing in her body, the pulse stopped. Its sudden absence – and yet she hadn’t felt it for a beat or two already, how was it possible – it cut through her like her own dagger, slicing right in the middle, almost stopping her advance. All rational thought abandoned, she swirled around to the tower – the flames up top steady, slow, dark.

A shout was her only warning.

Ducking, a sword slid down her arm, a long but shallow cut flaring with pain. Two of her own slashes disposed of the Blackleg and the fight resumed, her body floating in a trance of intuition and muscle memory, nothing but the need to survive guiding her through. If not for the need to breathe, she was sure the tightness of her throat would rob her of air.

Midway to another kill, she met Wet Stick’s worried gaze – and recognized the warning came from him.

„You all right?” he shouted, his own sword already bloody.

„Fine!” Her arm stung like hell, aching with exertion, but it all faded in the wake of absent pulse.

Somehow they ended up right beside each other again and Art’s words echoed inside her mind, a painful reminder. Throwing away the thought, she moved around with Wet Stick, watching his six as he watched hers, the hilts of her daggers slowly turning slippery in her arms – either from sweat or blood, she couldn’t see in the dark, couldn’t spare a moment to look.

Another burst of light slashed through the dark, almost blinding, and the pulse shook her whole body. Without sparing a single look – she knew, somehow, the tower-top was ablaze again – she let the pulse propel her forward, strikes in tune with the almost violet shudders it sent through her muscles.

Finally, they broke through to the main court – and shortly stopped at the sight.

More than a dozen Blacklegs, weapons laid on the ground, surrendered. More laid in the background, bodies strewn around the stairs, right from the top. She almost laughed, but then goosebumps rolled over her skin, raising all the little hairs at the nape of her head, and she spun around to witness the biggest flash and blast of flames and light, a loud explosion shaking the skies with the tower-top bursting into bits and pieces. Her breath stopped, caught between lungs and throat, something deep inside her thrumming and pulsing but with different kind of energy – warm and tender.

„Is that good?” Wet Stick murmured beside her, as if to himself. But she couldn’t stop a smile.

„Yeah,” she said, out of breath, „yes, I think so.”

Dimly aware of the gazes at her back, she watched the entrance, waiting, hoping, letting her heart skip a painful beat as the tower started to crumble from the top - starting slow, but gaining speed as it went - and his tall silhouette emerged from the dust and shadows.

„Look!” Wet Stick’s voice cut through the sudden silence, whipping all the heads not yet looking to see.

The Excalibur glinted in the flames strewn around, a golden-blue shine to the magic blade, but she had eyes only on him. Bloodied, his core slashed and shirt torn, but alive and well, his back straight as always, a long, winded breath that she felt in her own breast leaving his lips.

_Knew you’d find a way, love_ \- her heart sung, aching and drumming with both exhaustion and elation. They made it.

The Born King came to his rightful place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere thank you to everyone who commented or left kudos, y'all are the best and probably what kept me going. Stay safe, stay well, hope you enjoyed ❤

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Leave some kudos, a comment - love reading your thoughts and responding! - or just smash of the keys in caps, let me know how you feel! Lots of love to y'all <3  
If you want, find me on tumblr - [link](http://raksh-thedemonlady.tumblr.com/) \- I post some other works there too, like headcanons, so check out my masterlist there to find them.


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